By Fang and Spell
by AshadelMG
Summary: The Cataclysm has come, and it is not only the world that has been shattered. Follow a group of unlikely heroes as they make their paths, meet unlikely friends, and unite to bring down a common enemy.
1. Prologue: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

**_Author's Note: _**This is a quite long-term story that will be updated as it goes. I do enjoy reviews and critique, provided they are respectful. I'm the type of writer who enjoys a good critique just as much as I enjoy praise, so please don't be a stranger. Before it is mentioned; yes, I understand that I'm not following the story the exact same way the quests will have it done. I've played Warcraft since vanilla, and I've always found it amusing how the quest givers *still* want the same item that was fetched three years previously. While some quests might be particularly prominent (because the detail taken this expansion was meticulous in some ways, and deserves praise), others might be absent completely. The characters in this story are original characters, at least the major players. They have all been carefully mapped out to not be incredibly powerful, or incredibly weak, despite the fact I have augmented some of them with stuff from the RPG more than the game. I have attempted to stay true to lore as much as I can, while providing unique characters and a story that can be enjoyed. Let's see if I succeed, yes?

~ AshadelMG

* * *

"_My child..."_

The wood is alive with sound, the sinister dark laced with a fog that threatens to choke the very life from what little remains able to live. As one, the hunters spread around the intruders, the silent command given from the largest and most swift, though the ones who followed the order are no less quick in their movements. As if to aid in their endeavor, the clouds break, and silver light hits the fog to turn it into a sea of glittering diamonds.

"_I remember the day you were born. I remember how happy your father and I were to have you, after Clyde had given me such trouble..."_

A howl lances through the trees, and like ghosts that have risen from their graves to walk the earth again, so too do the hunters converge on their targets. Fog clings to them, drenching scraps of cloth that barely hang around muscled forms, and it will be the brief flashes of color between those odd pieces of fabric that their prey see before darkness falls, and there will be no waking from their slumber.

"_... We taught you to walk, twice. Do you remember like I do? How we held your hand as you took those first trembling steps, how you laughed as you realized that you were free to move as you wanted..."_

The ambush is over quickly, leaving only the hunters to consume their prey. Sobs of pain are cut short, mercifully so, while furred shapes take their kills, one by one, back to their dens. All but one. Snapping back at pack-mates who try to move her, she bends over her prey and consumes them with the fervor that only a starving animal could possibly rival.

"_Your strength was taken from us, handed down word by word, and touch by touch..."_

Her feast finishes, warm blood still trickling down her furred maw, her head tilts back and a guttural sound leaves her throat. It rises, until the fog itself flees before her howl. In the distance, more voices add to the haunting song; a song of triumph, of blood, of life. The sound filters into her ears, deafening her to the noises that are close, too close to be avoided now, until a shot rings out and her cry is halted.

"_... and now you are in love. Oh, I remember the first time! How lucky you are..."_

The woman glares at the tree that took a bullet she does not know was only meant to draw attention, but it has succeeded even so. With a growl, the russet fur ripples over muscles as she dashes at the closest mark, a cry of annoyance leaving her as it yields beneath her claws, and she is met only with splinters that dig deep into the pads of long, clawed fingers. Her cry becomes one of pain, thick darts lancing her flesh to drive her away from the dummy, and closer to something else.

"_I wish I could be there, to see you fly with these new wings you have found..."_

Anger pulses through her, a whimpering yelp of pain leaving as she charges and finds herself cornered again, and a bright flash of pain settles itself around her paw. Trapped, her howl becomes a scream, felt from the fire-like pain in her leg clear to the tip of her blood-drenched snout. A blow comes, cracking cruelly against her skull, and the killer drops. Without a word, the form is picked up and thrown among others in the back of a cart drawn by a nervous horse.

"_... I won't be able to, and I know this now. I have accepted it, and I am sorry. Yet..."_

Hours pass, and she wakes only to find herself trapped in a darkened cage. Someone peers in, speaking in a tongue she knows is familiar but still distant, an invader to what has become nature to her. The glint of glasses, the tone of disappointment and hatred. A voice so familiar, and yet not at all. The female growls deeply, and the familiar stranger pulls back, glaring down as if she is nothing more than vermin. The animalistic instinct gives way just slightly to human dislike, and the growl that ceases is replaced by a glare that could not be mistaken.

"_My child, remember..."_

Days go by, food given to the beasts within the many cages as they slowly, one by one, die off. They are dragged from their cages, brave strangers binding dangerous muzzles closed and forcing these beasts into stocks. She watches her companions, watches them become weaker and less resistant, until it becomes an effort not to chain them, but to carry them to where they can be kept. She is not spared this, and knows the pain each feels as if it were her own.

"_... no matter what, always remember."_

So many have died, and the scent from the men and women who drag her from the cage is not that of fear or anger, but of hopelessness. A voice speaks in her mind, a distant call. Yet she is weak, herself. The last of those brought from that night in the forest, she is barely able to stand as they chain her into the stocks. Her head hangs, dreading what they might make her drink now. Once so adamant about her denial, she was little more than a tame pup as they would feed her, and yet it never satisfied her hunger. Drink quenched her thirst no better than sand could.

More voices, a gentle voice and one with power. Talking to her, gesturing, and she doesn't care. She can't care, feeling her life ebbing from her. Her maw is opened by a finger, the clean digit forced between her jaw and moving to pry it open just moments before something splashes against her tongue. Yes, that taste. The bitter tonic they had been sneaking in small doses to all of them, but now it came in waves, spilling around her jaw to hit the floor. The woman drank greedily, aching for anything to slake the thirst that just wouldn't stop.

"_Remember..."_

A new fire spreads in her body, bringing with it a pain that could not have been felt before. It burned through her, through every vein and muscle, tearing a howl from her as she thrashed wildly, showing more energy in those few painful moments than she had in a week. The wood splinters as muscles flex and twist, and with a shuddering breath taken the woman throws her head back and howls, a sound that loses it's tone and sharpens until it is nothing more than a scream that lances through the air. As if it were combed from her, her body sheds it's fur and her mane lengthens and changes, that rich dark cherry color showing as russet fell away, caramel skin bare beneath the moonlight, and as the last shred of pain races from her, wide golden eyes lose their shade to become the deep green that she was had been born with.

A shout goes up, the last she hears as she loses herself to the darkness of sleep, a darkness so different and more comforting than that she had been part of for what seemed to be lengthy years. Unconscious, she is unbound and carried from the stocks, a cloak wrapped around her mildly malnourished form as she is taken to the building for those like her.

In the sky, the moon pulls clouds around it's body, sending an already dark land into a seemingly darker one, and once more the howl goes out.

"_You are Gilnean."_


	2. Chapter One: Dark Awakening

"She's upstairs, Addy. Be careful, will you?"

The house where she had been taken was warm and well-kept when it came right down to it. It didn't help her mind any, to wake and feel fur on the soft linen. It was a nightmare all over again, one she didn't want to relive in the least. Brinella sorely wished, for just the smallest moment, that she had died instead of been made to see herself like this.

When the door opened a crack, she made no move to turn over. Somewhere along the line, she had lost her sense of modesty. Probably when the fur started to grow in places it never had before. There were many things that seemed beyond pointless at that moment, and her laying in a bed was one of them. She had never been a small girl, built just a bit taller and a little thicker than most of them, but it had never bothered her.

Now she was... Brinella's lips curled, revealing teeth that would make most mastiffs jealous. _"A monster. A monster who knows she's one, now." _Yes, that was what she was, and would always be. Her fingers curled in the sheets, and she briefly heard the rip of fragile cloth before she stopped and sighed.

"I _know_ you're awake, Brin-Brin."

Her golden eyes shot wide, leaving the comfortable fire as her head turned to look over her shoulder. The girl that met her eyes was the same as she had been forever, with the same gentle smile that seemed to extend clear up to her clear blue eyes. Golden hair fell in soft waves to frame her face, though Brinella knew all too well that the bulk of it was tied back in a thick braid. Her mouth moved, a strange sound halfway between a whine and a growl leaving her furred maw.

"Give it a little bit." Adeline bumped the door open with her hip, a platter of lightly cooked meat on a tray in her hands. The smell made Brinella's stomach growl, and the way she licked her lips reminded her strongly of her pet fox when it had seen a treat it couldn't get to. "Get some food down first, and this..." Her hand dropped into her apron pocket, pulling out a small vial of fluid. "I got the mandrake for you. You've been sleeping nearly a week, and I was worried. You..." The blonde's eyes dropped as she settled the tray on the bed, and Brinella scooted slightly over, looking between the two.

There was the shame. There was no more ravenous hunger, not like there had been in the woods. Eating was a messy business, and even though the sheets fell away to show her furred body, it didn't bother her nearly as much as the possibility of frightening someone she had once been close to. Brinella knew that there was fear in her reluctance, fear that would have any pack member at her throat for a moment, but to her surprise, Adeline only smiled.

"It's alright, Brin." Delicate fingers slid her left sleeve up, showing the bite scar around her wrist. The woman's voice was full of a hollow laughter, so very different from how she always was. "I dropped three of them with one of those old, heavy skillets Ma Bayer had at her restaurant. Maybe I got a bit cocky, because I didn't hear the one behind me. It got me around the wrist when my arm was raised, and I'm not sure if I fainted from the pain, or when the skillet hit my head. I turned, but I wasn't that way long. Not as long as you were... so..."

She tapped the plate, pushing it with a finger closer to the shivering worgen. "I promise, Brin. I won't be scared. It's just eating. The elixir won't turn you back like me, but it'll keep your head on straight. You won't feel so hungry, at least not in... not in the way you did. I know that hunger, and it scares me, too. Sometimes, when we get a man traveling through who thinks I'm an easy woman, I get really, really anxious to kill him. It just bubbles up, and I have to force it back down, or Tray will come and rescue me in his cute little way. But I know..." She stopped speaking as her childhood friend pounced the platter of meat, a small smile on her lips.

"No one has seen Clyde, not since the attack started. Most figured he ran off to find you, since you'd always been so close. I suppose it's a good thing we haven't found him. Your father..." She stopped as the eager ripping of meat halted, catching Brin's haunted gaze. Too haunted, too guilty. "You already know. Oh, Brin. I'm so sorry. Who – who turned you? If you remember?"

"_Of course I remember. How could I not?" _The answer flicked through her mind, and with her hunger somewhat sated, she tried to speak again. When young, she had often wanted the farm dogs, Blair and Soot, to talk to her like she felt they could if they just _tried_. Now she realized just how foolish that would have been. Canine mouths just weren't made for speech like hers was. Had been. A series of soft whimpers and rough growls left her, but Adeline never once flinched. If there had been any doubt, had been any thought that the blonde would have run at the first sound, it was gone now. It was that alone which made her try harder, until at last she managed it.

"Cor." Rough, as if she had spent time screaming beneath a torturer's blade, a mere rasp of what it once had been. Even so, it was an achievement, and Brinella's pride in herself was enough to temper the shock shown by her friend. "We were running. I didn't know he had been bitten. I didn't know he was changing." She gave a hoarse laugh that translated to a sharp bark. "I don't know if I'd have cared, even now. We ended up cornered, and that changed him. While the others closed in on us, he bit me as he changed."

Brinella shifted slightly, showing the scar on her right shoulder, and then the claw marks along her lower back. "He didn't mean to hurt me. I thought it was supposed to be a kiss goodbye, something romantic before we... died." Long, clawed fingers brushed over the bite mark. "I fainted, as you did. When I woke, I was at the farmhouse, and..." A mournful whimper left her, her hands going to her eyes as the images flooded her mind again. "My father had a gun pointed at me, and I snapped. I killed him, Addy. I killed him, and then I ran after sating my hunger."

The blonde watched Brinella, knowing that no other person could watch a humanoid wolf cry like she was doing, and not find it amusing in some way. There was nothing funny about what had happened, not to any of them. Most tried to make the best of it, knowing they'd possibly never be normal. Few of them managed to stay sane. Her fingers reached out, gently brushing Brinella's ears and ragged mane. "It's okay. I know that seems silly to say, but it's okay. Your father's instinct was to kill what was a danger. So was yours. He's safe, Brin. He's away from all of this, and I know the Light holds him close. He was a good man, who raised two beautiful children after your mother passed."

"You're going to remember these things, even if you don't want to. They're going to haunt your waking hours, and you'll hear the screams of your victims in your sleep. Don't let anyone try to disillusion you to that fact. They try to say there's a cure, and maybe that's true. It isn't here, though. You don't have to like what you've become, my friend. Light knows there's very few of us here who do like it. We accept it, though. Keep that in your mind, and you'll stay just a little bit more sane." Adeline moved slightly, just close enough to drag the woman nearly twice her height against her in a tight hug.

"There's some benefits to it. The bad parts aside, like the hunger and the fur in some very uncomfortable places, we have incredible hearing and sense of smell. I can even see better in the dark than I've ever been able to." She pulled away, looking up into Brin's eyes. "I haven't smelled Clyde or Cor in any of the corpses, human or worgen. They're out there, Brin. Somewhere, they are out there. Keep that thought in mind, and things will be better."

Brinella nodded, looking to the platter of half-eaten meat and the vial that had been set down with it. With care, she picked up the small item and held it out to Adeline. The blonde chuckled. "Decent for tearing, but not really for opening." With delicate teeth, the stopper was pulled off and the vial handed back. "All at once. It tastes like... well, there's a lot of things it doesn't taste like, 'good' being one of them."

The wrinkled muzzle as the draft was downed only echoed the sentiment, Brinella smacking her lips and moving her tongue like a dog that had gotten a spoonful of peanut butter. "Ugh." The long tongue came out, her padded fingers raking along the pink muscle as she tried to get the taste from it. Dirt, weeds, and possibly excrement all had better flavor.

"It's not meant to taste good, just keep you as yourself. I'll leave the plate here." Addy took the tray, setting it on a small table near the fireplace. "It's a few hours past midnight now, but in the morning, we can wander about. Get you some clothes and the like, if you'd want that. Even if you're fur is very pretty, you don't want to turn human and be naked, do you?"

Brinella blinked, looking down at herself. "I was... I had been..."

"Only for a few minutes. They don't know why that happened. Maybe the potion reacted funny since you'd been turned for so long, or something. You aren't the first it's happened to, but it won't happen again. By the time they got you to the bed, you were sprouting fur again." Adeline shrugged. "It means there is hope for you, at least. Which is a good thing. Hope is always good."

"Yeah." Brinella looked away as the door closed behind the blonde girl, eyes back on the fireplace and the flames that danced within. _"I guess."_


	3. Chapter Two: Parting Gifts

Morning finally broke over the small town, and with it were the rest of the citizens. More of a half-way town for those who had been infected, it wasn't populous in the least. It hadn't always been like that, Brinella knew. She knew the houses here just as easily as she knew every building of the main city, but all of that was left to linger in the past. Sometime in the night, someone had snuck up into her room to lay out new clothes, and the woman was pleased to find they fit well around her new body.

The white shirt was a little bit of trouble, the long sleeves catching on her claws with each attempt to fit her hand through the narrow cuff. It didn't take long for her to look around the room guiltily, an innocent whistle within her mind as she tore the sleeves from the main body, and wriggled herself into it. It was easier to lace it, using her claws a bit like sewing needles to feed the string through the holes. The brown leather vest was just as easy, and felt like butter against her rough paw. She could not resist rubbing it against a furry cheek, memories of her father sparking in her mind.

He had always been so good to them, her father. A farmer his entire life, he had known the land like no one else she knew. It was he who taught her how to respect the soil, the trees, and even the animals. Gregory De'vrail loved his children, and when their mother passed, he showed it even more. Her heart broke to think about how his life had ended, at the mercy of her... she pushed the thought from her mind. At least she knew what had happened. At least it had been her, and not someone else. That was easier to accept, even if it was painful.

With a snort, Brinella worked her way into the pants. If the shirt had been vexing, then the leggings were downright cruel. The woman wavered, direly wishing she had a tail to balance herself, only to teeter and then fall on her rear, a whimper leaving her. No, a tail would have been far too painful to have sat on, and trying to tailor garments around that...

After the third fall, she had managed to pull the loose leggings up and tie them when Adeline's voice sounded from the other side of the door. "You're putting the pants on, aren't you? Try sitting down, and pulling them up that way." The wood creaked as the heavy door swung open, her lips pulled into a grin that seemed quite odd on her canine features.

Her fur was oddly white, with grey markings around her eyes. Unlike Brinella's own golden irises, she had remained with the ice blue color she had been birthed with. The golden hair she cared for had dulled to a grey, and she shrugged under Brinella's scrutiny. "You're a redhead, but have brown fur. Don't ask me."

"Actually, I was going to ask about the outfit..." Brinella gestured to Adeline's simple dress, even if the cut was a bit daring.

Once more the woman shrugged. "I like dresses better. I always have. I figured you'd be alright with your leathers. Do they fit alright?" She stepped forward, poking lightly at the cloth covering her friend. "It was a little hard trying to find spares for your size. It's one thing to be a big girl, it's another to be so..." Her head tilted. "Gangly? I don't know, Brin. We'll need to get you some food, and decent things while you're here."

"About that..." Brinella watched the smaller worgen bustle around the room, tidying it far better than Brin had cared to herself. "I'm not going to stay long. I can't. This... it's odd for me, Addy. Really odd. I don't like it, and I can barely accept it. I think it would be better for me to go, and find my brother." Her hand lifted to scratch at the back of her head, looking guilty.

Brinella paused for a few moments, seeming sad. "I know..." Her voice was quiet, and she looked up at the other with a sheen of tears in her eyes. "I had hoped you might stay with me, but I also knew that would be silly. We've been best friends since forever... I guess I thought -" Her head shook, a soft laugh leaving her. "No, you're right. I've always been content to stay here, have babies, grow old. I can't do that now, but you can still see the world like you wanted. If the worgen got into Gilneas, got past the wall... well, there's no reason to think you couldn't go _out_ it, too."

"You make it sound like Clyde and Cor aren't here anymore." Brinella's eyes narrowed as she accepted the dirty linens Adeline piled into her arms. "In fact, you seem very sure of that."

"Because they aren't." Addy picked up the shredded scraps of cloth that had once been sleeves, tossing them over her shoulders as she left the room with Brinella in tow. "It bugged me a bit, how I hadn't caught either of them anywhere. While you slept, I went out for a run. The entire pack they ran with, or at least were rumored to, is gone. The worgen are leaving Gilneas, getting out somehow. I think, maybe, that they left as well." The click of nails on the wooden floor was all the sound there was for a few moments. "I wasn't feral long, not like you were, but when I was, I felt like that old keep was calling to me. You know the one, we practically grew up hearing the horror stories. Funny how now we've become the horror stories – put them here."

Together they piled the clothes and linens into the box Adeline gestured to, the smaller girl flopping over it with a rough giggle before it was taken away by a rather frail looking child. The two watched her leave before Adeline guided Brinella out, the taller of the two blinking in the hazy morning. Despite the noise Brinella had heard since the first rays had touched the buildings, she was surprised to see there were truly not many awake. Adeline simply grinned as her friend gawked, cocking her head slightly and grabbing her wrist to drag her along behind her.

"You expected more? Don't forget our hearing is better, now." They weaved between posts and jumped over gates, Adeline sweeping aside clothes on lines that fell back to smack her friend in the face. If she was aware of this fact, it didn't stop her. She did not cease her pulling until they had approached a small store set in a back alley, and Brinella found her wrist released while her friend knocked on the door.

Her attention went elsewhere when the door was answered, using her improved sight to watch a spider weave an intricate web, and then drop to a wilting rose beneath it and rest. Brinella frowned, a delicate touch given to a rose petal. _"Mother loved roses..." _What harm would there be in helping it grow a little? Her eyes glanced briefly to her friend, and then back down the alley. Convinced no one was watching, she focused on the rose beneath her claws.

Brinella never understood what she was doing, even when younger. Her parents had always told her that she had a gift, but Brinella grew up to think she just had an overactive imagination. Like wishing her dogs could speak to her, urging a dying plant into becoming healthy was just something that had always been there. It had dimmed as she had grown older; she had stopped seeing the world as if it were a living, speaking thing, but there was always that strange bond. Like a friend who had gone away, the presence and familiarity was still there.

So calling it back was easy. When her father's crops wilted, Brinella would spend hours coaxing and singing to plants that would be twice as tall when she woke the next morning. The fox her dogs had frightened beneath the house would answer only to her, and it seemed he had understood her. Even her mother's crow, Blackwing, had an affinity for the girl as she grew. Her parents called it a gift, she called it imagination. Whatever it was, watching the rich red return to the wilting petals made her heart swell with emotion. _"There. For you, Momma." _As her claw pulled away, the rose stood tall, and its health spread to the next, and the next, until the entire window was filled with scarlet and green.

"They're beautiful, Brin." Adeline's voice held a wonder-filled smile, and Brinella shook her head to clear the fog that had come along. "Nothing really grows long, here. It's like the flowers are scared, just as much as we are. Maybe these will stay, and show everyone there is hope." Her head turned, looking to the male worgen holding out a basket to her. "What do you think, Mr. Avery?"

"I think you should take her to see the ol' earth-witch." A long finger came up to scratch gently just below his eye, the grey fur holding none of the luster that she had seen some carry. "A talent like that has some use here, and if not here, then other places. You can find her out at one of the farms, if you care to go look." His eyes narrowed slightly, seeming to darken beneath his massive brows. "Why don't you take these back to the inn-keep quick, Addy? I'd like a talk with Brinella."

"Sure!" The white-furred woman moved by swiftly, leaving Brinella with the old man. "I'll be back in a bit, Brin. Don't wander off, there's bad things about!"

"Come in, Brinella. There's a chill here, even despite our fur." The male backed away from the door, his claws clicking lightly on the wooden floor as he moved. It was an ominous sound, for her. Her head hung, the young woman darted past Mr. Avery, settling herself in front of the fire. "Just like when you were little, hmm? The missus always did like braiding your hair in front of the fire." His tone was a gentle one, and she pulled her knees to her chest while he spoke.

"Our families were always close, even when young." She listened to the click of his movements more than his words, but he knew she was listening regardless. "I've watched you grow up as much as one can, not bein' full blood kin and all. But you were always here if Gregory and Tilla had to go somewhere, and since we had no young of our own, I suppose you and Clyde were the best we got." He laughed, that rough laugh that seemed to be all that was managed for what they now were. "Precious little things, you and your brother. But I didn't keep you here to tell you about the past."

There was a grinding sound, something being dragged slowly. Brinella looked up, and then made to stand, not wanting to watch the older male struggle with the heavy chest. It was an old thing, carefully crafted to withstand time more than beauty. "I never thought I'd be doing this, taking this chest out. Your father gave me and the missus things to keep for you. Tilla's death... well, he never really recovered. He loved your mother so dearly, and some things were just too hard for him. I don't think he ever forgave himself for failing to get her what she needed." With some difficulty, he lifted the lid, and they both sneezed as dust billowed up.

"I'm keeping you here for the future, Brinella. Grab that satchel, there." His clawed hand pointed out a thick leather bag, and she took it from its hook on the wall to open it as he slowly lifted things out. "Listen to me, and listen well. Things here are not what they should be, and they never will again. There will be few Gilnean who can say they do not have this curse. We are a changed race, human and yet not. This is forever in our blood. If we breed, I have no doubts that we will only pass on this curse, assuming we can breed at all."

As he spoke, he took items from the chest. Brinella recognized the leathers as the ones her mother used to wear, and the small jewelry box her father had made as a birthday gift for Tilla one year. "However, there is a pack out there, smarter than the other ones. I want you to find them. I want you to join them if you can, and find a way to live. Adeline would have you stay here, but she is too afraid to see the world like you are." Mr. Avery chuckled. "Not, my dear, that you have _ever_ shown fear."

"You know I'm not staying, don't you?" Brinella watched him place item after item in the bag; vials of red and blue liquid, dried flowers, empty vials, food and drink... it seemed the bag would never stop filling.

"Of course. Your brother had the same sort of wanderlust. I don't believe he, or your fiance, are with this pack. But they... they might be able to help you where we cannot. There are many families that have been parted and destroyed with this curse. I only hope that you will find yours, and if not yours... then some semblance of one." He smiled, tying the bag tightly closed and handing it over. She took it, marveling at how her body barely seemed to feel the weight at all. "Your mother and father raised you right. Remember that, and make sure everyone knows the De'vrail name is strong."

Mr. Avery chuckled, turning back to the fire and taking a small box down from the mantle there. "Before Amelia passed, she wanted me to give this to you. You always had a special bond with her, and I thank you for the care you gave in her final months." Despite his sad tone, Brinella could hear the love aimed for both his passed wife and for the girl he now looked to. With care, she opened the small box, blinking.

Inside were golden coins, carefully stacked and rolled. Three small gems accompanied them, and a clear crystal was tucked into the side. Beneath it, a silver necklace lay coiled, the chain fine and joined with two others. A small pendant hung from it, holding a stone that glimmered blue in the firelight. "I can't..." Her voice was choked, her head shaken. "These are yours."

"No. They were yours the moment Amelia said they were to be given to you. The gold, though. That is a gift from both of us. It was to be shared with you and your fiance when you married, but..." He grinned, reaching out to gently ruffle her mane as she closed the box, swallowing back tears. "Perhaps there will still be time for that, if you find him." Mr. Avery straightened, pulling himself nearly a foot above Brinella's already tall and lanky form. "Now, I meant what I said. You find that pack, or your father will have my hide when I meet him in the afterlife. Never did get a chance to get him back for besting me on the field."

Brinella nodded, tucking the bag tight against her chest as, turning to leave. "I will, I promise." She left then, not knowing what else to say. Her steps were not slow, she all but fled the house, and she winced and tried hard to ignore the sharp gunfire that sounded behind her, muffled only by the wood of the door and walls.


	4. Chapter Three: Wolves and Roses

"_Wake up."_

Brinella woke with a start, her claws gripping and tearing holes into the sheets, driving deep into her palms. Her hiss of pain become something akin to a growl, her heart thumping madly in her chest while senses reached out, further than she would have believed possible. _"Something is wrong," _her mind screamed, _"something is very wrong..."_

"_Get up." _

Shivering as her claws withdrew from her now bloody palms, her ears perked. The voice she swore she heard was the only noise in the room aside the pop of the firewood that Adeline had lit before retiring herself, but it was a quiet voice. There was power behind it, seemingly as if it were yelled, but the person or thing speaking must have been miles away to be that quiet. Uncertainty flashed in her features, but the voice was tugging something else inside of her. Instinct, pushing hard and fast.

Without a sound, the woman dressed quickly and grabbed the pack Mr. Avery had given her. Her day had been spent gathering additional flowers and herbs if they were close to the town, the gold and gems tucked safely away so they would not be forgotten. Forgotten in a moment like this, where frantic urges were all but screaming at her in a language she understood despite it being foreign.

The heavy pack thrown over her shoulders, she wrapped the thick cloak Adeline had gifted her around her shoulders, squirming slightly to make it all settle. When she had returned from Mr. Avery's, Adeline had said nothing more about her friend staying. Her mind, like Brinella's, was made up. If her friend would not remain with her, then she would make sure she had all she needed.

Brinella made her way out of the room, softly at first, and then more quickly as moments passed. For a brief moment, she considered checking on her friend, but something else seemed to assure her that the woman was not in the home. No one was, and it was at that moment that she realized the city was far more quiet than it should have been. It was that, and that alone, that sent the worgen to the stairs and then the door, throwing it open.

Mist swarmed around her paws, slipping past her to vanish in the warm room. Some licked up her leather-clad legs, swirling about her cloak in an idle dance that made her bad feeling only grow worse. Stepping forward, she closed the door behind her, listening for that voice that seemed to speak to her from deep inside. Where it had been urging her to escape the building, it now told her to wait.

For what, she wasn't sure. The eerie calm reminded her too much of the storms that Gilneas frequently had to weather, and the quiet moments before the true force hit. She had become good at knowing when such things would happen, and this was akin to those events. Her amber eyes went upwards, seeking out the moon only to find thick clouds, the faint lacing of mist becoming a thicker fog that made looking anywhere difficult.

Time slowed, and she heard only her shaky breath for a time, and then something else. Her ears flicked and swiveled, struggling to catch exactly where the sound was coming from, but in the swirling mist, it seemed to echo. Despite all of her desires to run and flee, instinct told her to stay still, and she did.

A shape formed within the fog, walking on four strong paws rather than the hulking walk of a male worgen. It was graceful, even with how large it was, the thickly muscled shoulders reaching Brinella's own if she stood straight. The mist broke around it, slipping through jaws that made Brinella's seem like toys, the sharp teeth slicked with saliva. It was a frightening thing, yet as it padded closer and closer, she felt no fear. A comfort, perhaps, bestowed to her in the sharp blue eyes that watched her as eagerly as she watched them.

"_It's time to leave, child."_

Her reverie was broken, the wide muzzle of the creature touching her bloody claws before moving past her, and she realized that in this land of worgen, foxes, and horses... she was being led by a feline that could make any of them cower in fear. The white-furred tail flicked briefly, swishing through the fog like a knife through butter, and Brinella was left to watch it depart as easily as it had come. Whatever momentary spell had been cast on her, it faded and fear raced back into her heart, her mind screaming for her to follow the beast that touched her.

"H-hey! Wait!" An hour had passed, she was sure of it. The fog had lifted as they walked, the enormous feline guiding her up mountains she should have known herself, and yet the unfamiliarity of it all made her question if she was truly awake or asleep. She stumbled like a child over rocks, hissing in pain when sharp twigs would lance her fur, or a bed of particularly pointy rocks would greet the pads of her feet like an angered porcupine would greet a hunting dog. No matter how she yelped or fell, the guide she had followed would wait only long enough for her to stand, and then it would walk again.

Twice she had lost sight of it in the thick fog in the town, her muzzle meeting the sudden corner of a home, or a briar patch that she could have sworn was not present there just hours before. Each time, a low growl would sound and she would follow it, rubbing her wounds with a disgruntled whimper. There was no concern shown in those ice-blue eyes that watched her, and it infuriated her as much as the incessant voice that pleaded with her to follow the aloof animal.

Bare wisps of mist curled and then dispersed around the massive paws of the beast, and only after reaching the crest of the hill did it stop. It did not sit, a light wind ruffling the thick white mane while its gaze was cast out over the city they had just left. It looked back only when Brinella caught up, panting and grunting in a mixture of pain and weakness. Her hand pressed to her side, she held the other one up in a gesture for the beast to wait for a moment as she caught her breath.

"_We don't have time to waste. Mend your pin-pricks, and let us keep moving."_

"Like hell." The retort was growled beneath her breath, bringing a laugh within her mind from the beast she followed. It watched, almost curious, as she moved to dig in the bag that she had been given. When she pulled forth a vial of precious elixir, it was the frustrated grunt as she attempted to remove the stopper that sounded just before the surprised yelp and crash of glass. Brinella glared at the white-furred feline, who met her gaze with the calm demeanor of a parent staring down a spoiled child.

"_A waste of time, girl. Time we are already very short on. Use what nature has blessed you with, not shoddy elixirs that are too far aged to be of much use."_

For a long time, they sat motionless. It was the woman who broke first, growling beneath her breath as she shuffled her feet guiltily. "Nature hasn't blessed me with anything. I'm just good with plants and animals. I need those elixirs, and if you're going to bat every single one of them out of my hands, then I'll just deal with it now, and do somethi -" Her voice, quickly raising as her temper soared, sharpened in a soft scream as the world shuddered softly, and then shook with such force that even her companion braced himself, crouching and releasing a low growl.

Brinella curled herself up around her priceless pack, eyes shut tight until the world stopped moving. A loud roar filled her ears, and her eyes shot wide as she felt something grab the scruff of her neck and drag her back and away. Before she could retort or even scream, she realized why and suddenly felt thankful. Just inches from her paws, the land had become a void of nothingness. Rounded hill had been split in half, showing the dark and rich earth that hid beneath soil. "Th-thanks."

There was no response, but she hadn't expected one. While the large cat moved away to stalk along the new cliff-top, Brinella gazed out over the cliff, and then drew a sharp breath. _"Addy!" _Like before, knowing that something horrible was going to happen, that something was very wrong, the young woman knew without a doubt that her friend was still down there. Her friend... her eyes shot over the area, and without thinking, she was running towards the crevice that now lingered in the earth. She ignored the call in her mind, not of her instinct but of the white feline, grunting in pain as her body flew through the air, claws gripping and scrabbling at soft earth, and suddenly she was back on the other side.

It was only when she looked up and realized that the feline was slowly shrinking in size that she fully understood what was happening. Shooting a pleading look up at the cat, she turned on her heel and fled back to the town, dreading what she might find.

The town had turned up nothing. Buildings had fallen apart, and the few corpses she found were not those of her friend, but of the livestock that had been kept and raised to feed the infected. It did nothing to calm her, her voice now ragged and painful from her screaming of her friend's name, though no answer came no matter where she looked. Fear had swallowed her, making her choke on tears on top of biting back the pain. When the town had been of no use, she had fled to the farms nearby, the small houses where some lived on their own, and finally to the last farm where she drew up short.

What had once been land, open and good farmland, was now nothing but water. Debris bobbed in the water, and further out she could see the overturned hulls of large boats that were not familiar in any way to her. Even trees, the tips of oaks and cedars that had stood hundreds of feet tall, now nothing more than ocean fauna. It was only then, after moments of standing where it was dry, and now feeling the cool lick of salty water against her feet, that she realized her danger was not stopping. That she didn't, as the white feline had said, have time.

"Addy!" Her scream echoed over the silence, mingling with the lapping of water on new shore. "Adeline!" Her scream died to a whimper, her hands clapped over her eyes. "Just one whimper. Just one whimper, Addy. If you're alive, give me that much." Her whispers died, the tears flowing between her fingers.

And like a blessing, like some horrible cliché from stories she had read as a child, the moon broke through the fog and lit on a tangle of debris from a fallen house, and she heard it; a soft, wounded whimper that she knew without a doubt. Cliché or not, nothing stopped Brinella from tearing to that pile, gently moving planks and beams until her goal was reached. Bloody, bruised, and breathing far more shallowly than any person had a right to, Adeline smiled weakly up at her friend. "W-was... was that g-good enough?"

From between words came a wheeze, and pain lanced Brinella's heart. She had found her friend, but her friend was dying. "Yes..." Her tone was soft though her voice was not, her hands scooping gently beneath her friend and cradling her fragile human form against her leather-clad chest.

"Did the sh-shaking wake you up?" Adeline let her blue eyes watch her friend as the worgen started off jogging. Breathing was hard, and she couldn't help the soft whimpers that left her as her friend moved. The loping movements were not gentle, no matter how Brinella tried to move.

"No." She didn't bother to explain just what she had woken up to, or what she had seen. There wasn't any use. It was hard enough to navigate around broken buildings, stepping daintily over items that had shattered and sometimes cut her paws, making the slowly rising sea-water sting like nothing else she knew. Back up to the town, and it was then that Brinella realized that her friend had been deathly silent. "Just... hold on, okay?"

There was a small sound, a heaving cough as blood spattered Brin's tunic, and the golden-haired woman spoke again. "You know I'm not gonna go." Her eyes opened again, a glassy gaze fixed on her would-be heroine. "Not with you." Brinella froze, her eyes going up to the cliffs where the white guide waited for her even now. There was no way to go but up, and the earth shuddered again beneath her feet, dropping quicker into the embrace of the sea. "When you... find them, tell them... tell... love them."

The last breath left her, those crystal-blue eyes falling closed once more, and Brinella held her friend close. "I will, Addy. I promise I will." Tears dropped down the long muzzle to meet with the sea now quickly rising above her knees, and for the first time, Brinella felt no real desire to go with instinct. It told her to drop her friend, and to climb to safety, but that wasn't fair. This all... it all wasn't fair. A whimper left her, and then her head was thrown back, letting the mournful howl spill from her hoarse throat.

Caught up in her mourning, she didn't see the earth before her split and crack. Fine roots wriggled forth, touching her fur and the soft, battered skin of the friend she carried. Thicker roots followed, both curling around Adeline and lifting her gently from Brinella's arms, and intertwining along the cliff-face in a living ladder. Brinella's sobs became convoluted hiccups, struggling briefly with the vines before realizing they were helping her and not hindering. Up and up, as if a gathering of friends were bearing a dearly departed to her grave, Adeline's body was lifted up the cliff while Brinella watched. A moment passed, the cool water sweeping around her waist urging her to climb the strange ladder, and she felt the vines retract beneath her feet as she did.

When she pulled herself over the top, scrambling to her hands and knees, it was amidst a carpet of roots and vines. They writhed around her, their undulating movements bearing her friend to a hole that had been dug, and recently so. Confusion sparked in her mind, and she looked for who could have possibly such a thing, and her eyes fell on that massive a muscle-bound form that was her guide.

His head was bowed low, eyes closed, but the pulsing aura around his paws was a power far stronger than anything she had ever felt. Beneath her hands, she felt as if the earth was speaking, talking to itself and to everything within it as it followed the lead given to them by the feline. The roots around her moved like snakes, leaving her behind as they followed Adeline's body into the hole, and Brinella followed as well, dropping to her knees in time to see the vines lay her friend gently down, and then recede once more into the earth like a burrowing worm.

"_There must be balance in the world, for life to flourish. With each pain, we feel some measure of happiness. For every life, there must be death. These are the things we must learn in the hardest ways of all."_

The great beast padded quietly over, his massive paw lifting and then dropping over her own hand, pushing it firmly to the earth. Again, the green glow pulsed around him, and then into her own hand and arm, and Brinella realized with a jolt that it was not an aura of magic, but the very grass beneath him. Reaching for him, and now for her, it glimmered with the green of life and youth, sparkling beneath the coating of dew left behind from the mist that had bathed it recently. They were living gemstones, emitting a life all their own, and it took her breath away.

"_Finish it. Finish your grave for your friend, child."_

With a soft sob, Brinella let go. The gentle coaxing she had always used for the simple roses and corn on her family's farm was gone, her very heart and soul reaching and crying out for anything to hear her. For anything to answer, and help her mourn. Beneath her hand, bolstered by the white-furred guardian, the earth answered. It shook and shifted gently beneath her, roots pushing dirt to cover Adeline a little bit at a time, the dirt mixing with Brinella's tears as her eyes closed. She felt, as if they were whispering directly into her ear, the plants answer her, reaching out to her with long roots that intertwined beneath the ground inside the rich soil that had been newly turned.

They swept together, and broke free from the earth to surge upwards and weave together. The wood twisted and shaped, a headstone of living wood that allowed small vines to grow up along it until the small grave was overshadowed by an oak headstone framed by roses of a dark scarlet, bobbing in the gentle breeze. When Brinella at last opened her eyes, feeling the pressure of the paw leave her hand, it was to see the final touch; the oakwood darkened in a design, the figure of a wolf howling against a full moon showing up as if carved by an invisible hand. The wind made the deep green leaves rustle beneath heavy roses, and her tears stopped entirely.

"_Is this a proper grave for a friend?"_

"No." Brinella, despite her heartache, smiled. "It's the perfect grave for a sister." Her fingers reached out, touching velvet petals and sweeping along the wood headstone. Smooth, perfect, as if crafted by an artisan and yet no mortal could ever hope to compete with the quality. She knew, as easily as she knew this marker would never fade, that she could not have done it without the feline. "Thank you."

There was a long pause before he spoke, and already he had turned away to begin walking. _"She has found her balance, and her life has given birth to more life. So it is, so it will always be." _His massive head turned back, blue eyes looking to her. _"Now, youngling, let us find your own balance."_

Brinella nodded, casting one more look at the gravestone, and another at the land that was now sea, the water having stopped halfway up the cliff she had just scaled. After a few moments, with a deep breath taken, she collected her things and loped off to follow the feline, wincing slightly as stray stones jabbed into wounded paws. "You... think I could use a potion now?"


	5. Chapter Four: Bloody Nightmare

_Hunger. _It rang inside of her, a dark whisper that swirled around her mind with a soothing caress. It had persisted through simple meals hunted down quickly by both her and her companion, the white-furred feline never giving second thought to her as she tore and ripped into tender and young flesh. Stags and wolves, even foxes if the need arose. Yet none of them were sating her hunger.

It made her pause before eating, now. That last shred of the human Brinella that seemed to be at war with the beast she was becoming. "_Had become?" _With every rend of stag beneath claw, she seemed to feel herself drip out along with the creature's blood, and the thought sickened her. Twice now she had passed on eating, knowing that even sating the bodily hunger would not make the animal go away.

Her companion had noticed this, and perhaps it was that alone that made his steps faster. In the course of the week they had traveled, he had slowly taught her what she needed to know. Harnessing the healing nature of the earth came with a struggle, as if it balked at helping her do such, but she could manage enough to soothe her angry wounds after a day of climbing over sharp rocks and tripping over tree roots. Shortness of breath that seemed to travel with her near-constantly when running after the massive guardian was now absent.

She found that running was easier if she dropped to all fours, but the heavy satchel and thick cloak made the movement awkward. For now, she would sprint on her hind legs, and hope it would be enough to get her to keep up with the easy lope of her companion.

The woods thickened around them, brambles growing wild and decorated with roses that seemed to pulse in time with the lingering heartbeat Brinella felt beneath her hands as she ran, or sat, or even slept. She swallowed hard as the bounding run of the feline scared a pack of rabbits, her incessant hunger screaming for her to chase them, devour them, feel their blood on her muzzle again. With a low, unsettled growl, she shook her head again.

"_Gather these." _Her companion paused beside one large tree, his tail flicking out to brush along a strange bush that the woman had never recalled seeing before. It was similar to the growth of Silverleaf that she knew so well, but the leaves of this seemed to glow with their own light, a soft white that shimmered like a beam of moonlight on a lake's surface. She felt some guilt at taking even a few leaves from the plant, but her companion wouldn't accept it when she took three of the delicate seeming leaves, and let his unhappiness be known with a sharp nip to her fingers. _"More. Strip the bush while I find food for you before we move on."_

She watched him leave, her look a wounded one. It wasn't the harsh nip to her fingers that hurt her, in truth it had been barely felt. It was his tone, so familiar and yet a distant memory. As if she had listened to it for her entire life, and then it had been absent for a year. Brinella waited until his tail had left her line of sight before turning back to the bush, leaf after leaf of the delicate plant dropped into a pouch she retrieved from the satchel over her shoulder.

Minutes passed, her ears flicking back and forth without conscious thought. The wind shifted, and her heart jumped. A deep growl started in her throat that matched the starved rumble in her stomach. A sharp scream tore through the air, and before it had even ceased and then started again, before she could realize that it was a scream within her, her own scream as the darkness pressed in and suffocated the last shreds of humanity she bore, and the worgen took over.

_Blood. Eat. Feed. Kill. Kill. Kill. _Her paws scored deep trenches into the ground as she ran, pausing only to catch the scent of scarlet lifefluid that seemed to twist through the trees and call to her like a long lost lover. The irritating voice in her mind, the sense of her humanity that struggled against both the darkness and her impulse, was shoved out multiple times, climbing again to the forefront only to be beaten back until it seemed at last to give up. It curled up in the corner of her thoughts, sobbing helplessly as the cursed and animalistic instinct she followed now twisted dagger-like pain into the frail human spirit. With every step she took, Brinella's sanity died.

Her eyes held no human sentience by the time she broke into the clearing, breaking into the middle of a battle that seemed centered around a strange hunting lodge set in the middle of a massacre. Worgen flooded in from the trees and shadows, falling upon women with pale skin and bloodshot eyes, killing swiftly and then passing on to the next. One such couple fell to the ground before her, and without a second thought, Brinella's claws dug deep into both fur and skin with no regard to enemy or friend.

Both struggled, weakened by each other and now no match for the famished youngling that tore into them both. Moments passed, their blood still flowing down torn and sundered flesh when she left them behind to find others, picking off the weak and injured and feeding for only moments before she was gone again. They fled before her, turning claws and bows on her as if she were the only true enemy there. A sound blew, a shrill whistle or roar, she wasn't sure, but they fell back. The worgen vanished into the woods once more, and the frail humanoids that smelled strangely of death retreated as well, leaving their dead and dying to be consumed.

She was not alone long, the sobbing within her having long stopped, a child locked in a dark closet, holding her head and trying to blank the world outside, pretending it didn't exist. So entrenched in her feeding, she didn't notice the new presence until it slammed into her with a roar that would have made even the most stalwart adventurer scream. It only angered her, the two barreling down a steep incline to slam into a tree.

Dimly, Brinella was sure she felt something in her chest snap, a sharp pain blooming there as the attacker growled and left her whimpering beneath a paw. _"Don't make me do this." _Her view cleared for just a moment, swimming, and against all odds, she struck again. Red bloomed stark against white fur, and her measly scratch was met with a thick and heavy swat of a paw, and she felt herself falling.

Somewhere, her head struck stone. A pained yelp left her, and she landed again. Rage flooded up through the pain, and despite wanting to lay down and curl up, despite wanting to mend her wounds, the beast within howled back up at the form of the white-furred male. The cliff she had just fallen down was nothing to her now, adrenaline rushing through her body and giving her strength she never knew she had. The feline fled, and in her anger-fueled state, she didn't realize she was being lured until too late.

Back to her bags, and then past them. The two were hunter and prey, the brambles scratching fur and leaving deep marks. When at last the white cat vanished from her sight, the woman pulled up short. Her own undoing. Slammed into again, it was humanoid fingers that grabbed around her throat, hauling her deeper into the gloom beneath an enormous tree. Voices shouted around them, but the two were locked into a combat that looked to be to the death.

With some difficulty, the new assailant lifted Brinella, and her next sensation was of drowning. Liquid filled her mouth and she drank, it crept into her nose and down into her lungs, and she was only given a moment of reprieve as her head was drawn out to meet the same thing twice more. By the last, her struggles had died nearly entirely, her vision fading in and out as others chanted. She heard talking, yelling, even screaming. There were hands on hers, her vision stabilizing just enough to catch a face above her own, and in a heart and body wrenching moment of pain, all darkness seemed to fade away for just a moment.

"Cor... Cor!" Her voice was normal, rough with the sound of pain, and her hands reached up to touch the sun-weathered face above hers. Black hair, thick and long, fell around her own face, but it was the eyes that caught her attention for that moment. In that hectic, pain-filled moment, it was the eyes like ice that caught her attention and held it there. "Addy... said she loved you..." No more, she couldn't speak anymore, his lips crushing against her own in that familiar embrace they had shared a thousand times before. It swept her breath away, and with her breath, her senses.

* * *

"Ragged bunch, the lot of 'em." Winnie tilted her head at the boat that had just landed, her shoulder rolling briefly beneath the enormous mace she had easily tossed over it. Her flame-colored hair glinted in the setting sun, and the bronzed armor that encased her short and voluptuous form was no less ornate under the golden rays. "Can't blame 'em, ye know? Handful o' survivors after that attack, should be glad to be among tha livin'." Her steel eyes landed on the figure that had been there almost constantly since the first boat had landed.

Lydros shrugged slightly, his luminous gaze on the sunset while his saber companion batted fish from the edge of the pier. "Can't expect them to enjoy much here, dwarf. How many of them do you think are here to join back with family?" His eyes went to the dwarf, then followed her own gaze to the lone woman. "You said you wanted to fish, Win. Not stare at the backsides of wolf-women." His tease was not lost on the dwarven woman, who puffed out her chest and cracked a gauntlet-covered hand against the back of her companion's head.

"Hmph. Dunnae be thinkin' tha I look at all the backsides that come along, lon' ears." She dropped the mace with a thunk beside her friend, jerking the fishing pole from his fingers and plopping down beside him. "Jus' aboot all I seen involvin' that one, anywho. Where'd tha ale go?"

The elven hunter grinned, patting the small cask beside him as Shade pounced upon a flopping fish. "Right here, my friend. Right here."

"Han' it o'er. I have a feelin' I'll be needin' it with ye here – Oi!" Winnie glared at the elf, and then at the now floating cask of ale that had once been at his side. "Ye bloody..."

* * *

"I'm sorry, ma'am. This is the last boat. There's no one else there." The captain stroked his beard a moment, eyeballing the wine-headed woman. "A few stayed back, but none like the one you described." The sad eyes she leveled on him for a moment before dropping them to her feet, made him shuffle his feet. "I'm sorry."

Brinella waited until the Kaldorei shipmaster left before turning back to the boat, trying desperately to ignore the tears pricking at the back of her eyes. It was the same as she had heard since waking three days after her shift, human and curled against the side of a slumbering bear. No matter how sure she sounded, no matter how earnestly she spoke, the druids had claimed that she had never come in with a male - be it man, worgen, or beast.

She had stumbled in with a handful of the herbs, they claimed. They had used them in a ritual to restore her balance, and in doing so, had gifted her with the ability to be human again. She had grown calmer since then, but it was not the calm of peace that lingered in her. It was defeat. They had no reason to lie to her, no reason to make her think otherwise. But his scent was all over her.

When they had piled survivors into the boats, she had waited until the last had boarded and gone below decks, had waited until the land could no longer be seen and all that was there was the endless sea and stars, before she too went below. Over the course of weeks, she had listened and learned without heart to the lessons of the few druids who accompanied them. She felt that if she did, maybe that feline would visit again. Maybe she could prove that her flight from her town was _not_ a dream, and that she had _not_ done it alone.

Cor _had_ been there. He had helped her flee a certain death, had buried his own sister, had guided her through the woods, and in the end... her hand touched the side of her head where the lump that had formed from her fall still ached distantly. _He _had dragged her to sanctuary. "_He had nearly killed you, too..." _Yet even as her internal voice admonished her, she knew she had deserved it. The blood of victims still coated everything she ate, and she had lost weight from not wishing to eat anything. When she broke down, it was only just enough to keep her functioning, and nothing more.

His eyes haunted her sleep, her waking hours tormented by his kiss. She could not have imagined that, the bruises still on her lips from just how crushing that contact had been. Cor had been there, and had saved her time and time again, and then... now the tears appeared, her palms rubbing at the forest-green eyes that watched the horizon so eagerly. He had vanished, and no matter how many times they said there had been no one, she knew different.

As the sun set, her form shimmered and changed. Fur sprouted again, changing red hair to brown, and the bronze markings that had appeared on her sun-kissed skin at her first shifting grew as well as she dropped to all fours. There was some comedy to the wolf-woman being able to turn into a feline, or a bear, but it was better than the nightmares her worgen body brought her. Not nearly the size Cor had been, but no less majestic, the woman sat back on her haunches, watching the last golden rays vanish, chased below the sea by blues and deep greens. He had been there...

"_So why aren't you here now, Cor? Why aren't you where I need you now, like I needed you then? Is Clyde with you, too? Why won't you answer me now? Why... why?"_


	6. Chapter Five: Musing

**AN:** _A very happy of holidays to those who read this little story of mine. I hope Christmas went well for you, and that you remain safe through the New Years events that are sure to come. We are introduced more to Brin's relationship with Cor here, and really... who didn't see the events of the last chapter coming? We also meet a few more characters, some who will slowly develop as time goes, and others I brought in just for fun._

_Lore is a fickle thing to play with, sometimes. Through the worgen starting line, we know that the night elves have accepted the worgen into their city. Tolerance is a big play here, and I believe that no race is completely unanimous with their leaders as some would think. Xavius, Illidan, and even Maeiv all show different aspects of the same society. It's tough to try and pin the mentality of a race when the people who make it up make it so very varied. Hence why Theron is not so pleased with the worgen, and Lydros is willing to help. You'll probably find a lot of moments where you'll sit and go "Hold on a sec, that race doesn't act like that!" You'd more than likely be right. But the variables are what make the characters unique. Theron might fit quite well with the ideal of the blood elves, but he is most certainly kaldorei. Ninya might seem a bit too talkative to really fill in the ideal of the stoic female night elf, but she's just as lethal and mean as the rest can be when pushed._

_I talk too much. Heh._

* * *

In the weeks that followed the fall of Gilneas, the worgen found themselves a half-way house of some importance within the city of Darnassus. Some found themselves ill at ease to be so high in the air, where others enjoyed the gentle freedom. A few found council with their new allies, and friendships had begun to bloom. Always, there was the gentle reminder that they were guests. Even when their beloved King set sail for Stormwind, leaving a hefty chunk of his people behind, they were the best behaved of visitors that could have been imagined. To some of the young Kaldorei, they were much like pet dogs. It was not a kind endearment in the least, the reclusive youngsters holding much of their race's xenophobic ways close to heart.

Most of the refugees took such treatment in stride. The survivors had quickly set up to help the Kaldorei in their shops, in gathering, and even hunting. They had turned to the ones who had brought the curse they were now afflicted by, and were learning little things at a time. Elune began to have a place in the hearts of some, and others learned more of the Ancient, Goldrinn. Brinella was no different, though she chose to live in a different manner. As the weeks went by, and there was no sign of the man she loved, she began to stray from the docks.

"_He really wasn't there," _her mind would say. She hated to hear it from herself, but she couldn't understand why she had seen and felt him so strongly, but he hadn't been there when she had woken. The druids who had helped her swore that there had been no one, and as time passed, she grudgingly stopped trying to wheedle the truth from them, and simply accepted what she had been told. The absence of that hope had a profound effect on the woman, noticed by those she had grown up with, and those who now taught her.

The Gilnean woman hadn't been one of those who was constantly bubbly. She had left such a thing to her friends, and they had filled the positions with fervor. Brinella had been quiet, a stable girl for when the world came crashing down around the ears of those she loved. She would speak only when spoken to, but her smile was always there, a fleeting twitch of the lips as if she were keeping a secret she so longed to tell. Her laugh was rich and full, and she was the one the boys loved to dance with, because she enjoyed the quick-footed reels more than the boring slow-dances.

She was a farmer, her fingers roughened from pulling carts and tying endless knots. Clyde had teased her, told her that she would never find a good man neck deep in the hay. It hadn't bothered her, until Cor had come back from one of the far towns, where he had been an apprentice. He had caught her attention in a heartbeat, and in a way that no one else had, previously. That he was her best friend's brother only made the young Adeline twitter with glee.

It was Adeline who had started the ball rolling, dragging her unwilling elder brother to dances and harvests, fishing trips and hunting parties. If Brinella was set to go, then there was no doubt Adeline and Cor would be there as well. As time passed, the two grew closer. Six years of play, of chasing each other and climbing trees, before they woke up to what was right in front of them. He had proposed in the winter, had dragged her to a spot where the snow glinted in the sunlight, and the trees were heavy with ice.

She could still remember that long pause, after he had confessed everything. How she had looked at him, his fine features and ice-blue eyes, the long hair he kept tied back to let only his bangs trail in his eyes, and then had looked at herself. How ugly she had felt, in that pristine cove of laced ice and glittering snow, her hands rough from hard work, and her body nothing like the other girls. The one moment for her to feel absolutely insignifigant... but she loved him. All of her insecurities meant nothing around him. She had accepted, and in that gem-like cove of ice and snow, they had shared a first kiss.

Two weeks later, Clyde and Adeline were engaged as well. By the next winter, they were supposed to be married, and they all wanted it to be a wedding for both couples. Brinella would finally have the sister she had longed for, and Adeline would see her elder brother happy. Then... everything had gone wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. There would be no wedding for Adeline. Nor, it seemed, for Brinella. The man she loved with all of her heart was here, and yet not.

Her smile was a hollow thing now, and her laughter absent. She spent her days tracking down herbs with a keen nose, using some of them in her own potions and elixirs, and giving the rest to the kind Kaldorei who let her use the upper floor for a room. There she would curl up on the bed, as human as she could, and would ever, be. _"No use moping, you know. There are things to be done." _

Brinella sighed, rolling bodily from her bed to stand lightly on her feet. A groan left her as she stretched, feeling the odd popping as her back set itself back in order. Her grooming was quick and quiet, never taking long to brush her wine-colored hair and dress in the simple leathers she had taken to wearing. It wasn't long at all before she left her room, her form shifting and twisting until she was little more than the thick-built feline that she had taken to running around as. Her steps were not quiet as she walked downstairs, but her voice was when she reached out to the owner of the home.

"_I'm going out. Do you need anything while I wander?" _

Versai Wintermist glanced up from her table, her head tilted just slightly until the shadows fell from the source of the voice in her mind. Her thin lips pulled into a small smile, and she nodded. "I'm low on mageroyal and thistle, if you find it. Other than that, anything else you bring back can be dried for your use." Her silver-lit eyes watched the cat pad from the stairs and down the ramp, and she couldn't help shouting a warning about the coming rain, though she knew it would not be heard.

* * *

The rain came down in torrents, now. From beneath an umbrella of broad-leafed plants, Brinella watched it fall, her ears flicking back and forth when stray droplets crashed through the undergrowth to soak through her pelt. She couldn't say that she had not seen the storm coming, as she had clearly heard Versai yell her warning, but she hadn't expected it to come this fast, and in so great a scale. Gilneas storms were nothing compared to what was now rocking the tree, threatening to uproot the very ground she walked on.

The wind shifted, and Brinella found herself with a choice; either move and stay dry, or continue to inhale water. Grumbling internally, she chose the first. The plants rustled around her as she dashed out from her cover, and she all but slid downhill, claws scrabbling for purchase. It reminded her briefly of the winter months and sledding, albeit a bit more painful as branches caught her fur and tore skin. Her landing at the bottom of the hill was not graceful, a loud 'oof' escaping her as air left her lungs and she collapsed in a pile of wet cat and mud.

"_Wonderful day, wouldn't you say?" _The sarcastically chipper voice she spoke to herself in did nothing at all to lighten her mood, her eyes scanning the area in an attempt to find cover. When that brought nothing, she stood and padded off again, her frantic search for cover in the storm yielding nothing in the least. _"Should just turn around." _She agreed with her mental thought, and turned around to head back to the city, yelping in shock as earth gave way beneath her heavy paws and she dropped into a small ravine. A ravine, she realized, that had a small cave just large enough for her to slip into. With effort, she squeezed her feline body into the cave, stepping daintily over the small puddles forming.

Lightning cracked, making her skitter back quicker than she had intended, the thunder rolling over her pained roar as something sharp dug in around her front paw. She jerked, crying out again as it sank deeper into her flesh. Another lightning flash showed her ensnarement; a carefully crafted and hidden bear trap, with vines engraved on the metal. It was odd, to her, how she noticed the smallest things when in pain. Her form began to shift, a sharper lance of pain searing up her arm as claws turned to rough fingers. It was following her shifting, keeping her firmly pinned no matter what, and she could see no way to release it.

Long minutes passed, each achingly painful for the trapped druid. Her foot slowly lost feeling, alleviating the pain somewhat, just as long as she didn't move. It was at least dry in the slightly elevated cave, if a bit cramped. Maybe, once it stopped raining, she would be able to find help somehow. If a trap had been set, the hunter would have to check it eventually, and that settled her enough to make her relax, and wait. Somewhere along the way in her musing, she drifted to sleep.

* * *

"That trap was meant for the saber, not a wolf-cat." Theron growled under his breath, his eyes returning to their normal silver glow as Falshon spun once in the storm and sought to return to her master. "I'll fetch it in a few days. If it lives, it'll learn not to crawl where it doesn't belong. If it's dead... well, the rest of them will learn, then." His arm lifted, bracing slightly beneath the weight of his own companion. "No fault of ours, Falshon. None at all. Let's go home."

The male night elf spun on his heel, his cloak hood pulled up and over his eyes as he stalked off in the storm, headed back through the gates of Darnassus. Falshon's own amber gaze fell on a pair of cloaked figures in the shadows of a tree nearby, but an unspoken command as the taller of the two mets eyes with the old owl seemed to keep her quiet. She ruffled her feathers, and turned her gaze back towards the city.

"I'll wager two gol' pieces tha boy dunnae go back at all." Winnie's nose wrinkled, her fists clenching beneath the thick cloak that kept her warm and dry. Beside her, the black ram she rode seemed to bleat in agreement. He was not the only one. Lydros' own eyes were changed, almost feline in nature. Far beyond them, Shade picked through the soggy underbrush until he came to the ravine, dropping lightly down until he could pad to the cave his master sought.

He knew this cave, and knew the cat who normally called it home. Lydros couldn't help a dark chuckle of his own as he watched through his companions gaze, knowing the saber that Theron had so desperately sought was safe in a stable of his own. Trisa's own fortune was much better than the druid who had taken her place. After a silent command given for Shade to return, Lydros' eyes cleared. "I need Ninya. Go find her, and tell her to come follow Shade to me. Make sure she doesn't forget her tools."

Winnie nodded, pulling herself up into the saddle of her ram, and the two took off. Lydros set out from his spot, his hood pulled up against the storm.

* * *

"I know you're in there, lonely one."

Brinella woke slowly, a loud yawn echoing in the tiny cave. _"Oh, good. So now you can free me, and I can get back to town." _Her ears flicked as laughter filtered to her, a quiet laugh that seemed barely noticeable above the steady wash of rain. She was not entirely sure she liked the sound.

"Unfortunately, no." Lydros dropped down, his amber gaze meeting her own emerald one for a short time before he seemed to settle just outside the cave. "I'm just a bit too big to fit in there myself, and even if I could, getting back out with a trap would present a problem. Nevermind having you in there, on top of it all." There was a pause, and the clatter of things being dropped. "You've become a victim to one of the few who don't look so kindly on your people being here."

"_I had thought I simply stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time." _Her voice took on an edge of hurt as she moved, the trap tugging on her torn skin. _"You cannot remove it, but you simply sit there and watch me suffer?" _

Lydros laughed, and this time the sound was louder. "Not by a good margin, youngling. You may have been lucky that my companion and I wandered close to the one who did set the trap. He intended to let you stay here a few days to get a lesson through your head. It was your bad luck that the rain washed his scent from the area. His folly, as well. The beast he is trying to trap is safe in my own care. Very beautiful saber." He watched as Brinella huffed, blowing dust out from around herself as she shifted her haunches to bring feeling back into them.

"I sent Winifred to fetch a friend of mine. Good with springing traps, and a youngling like yourself. Gets herself in a lot of trouble, but she'll be able to get in there and get you unbound. Figure we can go back to my mentor's home and get you warmed up there, and some care. It isn't far."

Brinella said nothing, her eyes closing once more. She let the silence speak for her, ignoring the shift of earth as the hunter moved around. He did not try to speak and draw out more from the woman who clearly did not want to speak at all, and he gained a measure of grudging respect for that fact alone. It was only when she heard voices speaking that she realized she had drifted to sleep again, and that whoever the male had called had arrived, and was in the process of crawling into the tiny cave as well.

Silver eyes fell on Brin, and the heart-shaped face tilted in an inquisitive manner. "Oh, you _are _awake! Here, let me see that paw of yours. Which one got caught?" The woman curled up against the wall beside Brinella, nodding when the trapped paw was offered. "Hmm, this is pretty bad. Can you feel anything?" Her fingers dove into a muddy pouch at her side, bringing out thin tools that the druid could barely see in the dying light.

"_No, not really. I tried to shift, but it wasn't going to let me out." _

"Theron's traps are nasty things. His father is very big on respecting the wildlife, but the boy himself... well, I wouldn't be too surprised if he wound up getting himself into a buddy-buddy relationship with someone unsavory. He's always been about power and the like." Her words became muffled as she stuck a tool between thin-pressed lips. "This is definitely his. He likes to think he's completely brilliant and is the first to find an unreleasable trap, but everything can be gotten out of if you know the right places to poke."

"_You say that like you've gotten out of more than a few of these." _Brinella liked this woman, who seemed to talk more than most she knew and yet didn't make herself annoying. It was as if the act of speaking helped her focus. She took the time to look at the little lockpick, her heavy head set down alongside the trap. The girl was tall, but slender. She didn't have the heavy musculature of someone used to combat, but she obviously had some strength. Her white hair was cropped short, framing her sweet face, and her skin was a pale blue. She bore no facial markings, the first like such Brinella had seen.

"Well..." Ninya paused to think for a moment. "I've gotten more than a few animals out of these things. Lydros doesn't approve of Theron's ways. One believes that teaching an animal to trust you and consider you worthy of guarding is far better than the other, who believes that you bend the wild to you. They are constantly at the throat of the other," her voice raised over Lydros' own speaking, wiping it out in the tiny space, "and I think they both should grow up. Theron isn't very well liked, and he doesn't like Lydros for being familiar with all the other races."

"_I don't know either of those names. I thought your people were all... good." _Brin winced as the trap moved, causing a small trickle of blood to seep down the engraved metal.

"If we were all good, we wouldn't have satyr or naga." It was a simple phrase, but the hate it contained made the druid flinch internally. "Lydros is the one out there. He sent Winnie after me to get you out. Theron... well, you'll know him when you see him. Green hair, purple skin, thinks he's Elune's gift to women on top of everything else. He used to be a very pleasant person, but that was before we lost our immortality. His mother perished in the battle, and he... never really coped, I guess."

"_Battle?"_

Ninya blinked, looking away from her work to eye Brinella. "Have you lived behind a wall your entire life?"

"_Yes." _Her response was deadpan, making Lydros laugh out loud.

"Oh, right." The lockpick grinned sheepishly, shrugging her slender shoulders. "Just suffice to say there was a very big battle, and we lost a lot to be able to live today. I lost both of my parents, Theron lost his mother, Lydros even lost his mate." Ninya ignored the silence from outside the cave, setting down the tools and putting her hands on the wide metal that held Brin in place. "This is going to sting a little bit. I need to press down, which will release the spring the rest of the way, so bring your paw with me."

A low growl left the druid while the rogue worked, following her instructions carefully. When at last the slender woman pulled the metal apart, Brinella was sure she would begin to cry with how the paw stung. _"Thank you." _

"Not a problem. Let me move out here..." There was a great deal of squirming, and the spot was vacated as the girl slipped from the cave. Brinella moved to follow, and then realized that such a thing would be a great deal harder than she thought. Not only was her hand in great pain, but it simply wasn't working. Ninya seemed to figure this out long before the druid did herself. "It's okay. Just shift to the smallest thing you can, and I'll help you out."

"_It... hurts." _Brinella whimpered, ashamed of her weak tone, but accepting that she was indeed in pain. Still, her feline guise faded, and even the worgen faded away until she was merely human. Her good hand was extended, and with effort, both Lydros and Ninya gently dragged her from the cave. Standing was a chore, wavering slightly on her feet. "Did I break something?"

"No." Lydros took the bloody hand, peering at it for a moment before dragging it away from Brinella's body, and letting the rain fall on it. Each droplet made the druid writhe in pain, her desire to pull away stronger at every passing minute. "But you will need a good healer. Thankfully, I know one who can take care of what has been torn and harmed." He smiled, bringing out a bandage that he wrapped around her hand firmly, making certain it would not be moved. And without preamble, he lifted the girl in his arms, nodding to Ninya.

"Send Winnie to Laird's home, when you see her again. I'm taking the druid to see his mate." He ignored Brinella's protests, turning on his heel and making his way easily down the ravine, until the ground seemed to slope and he was on level ground once more. Shade appeared when he hit the road, bounding ahead until he could no longer be seen, and when Lydros still refused to put her down, Brinella resigned herself to her fate, petulantly dragging the edge of his cloak over her head so that she might be dry and warm.


	7. Chapter Six: Blood and Fel

**AN: **_Wait, this isn't Brin-Brin at all! Hey!_

_Oh, I do love the fun that comes with being an author. Don't worry, we'll get back to Brinella and her newfound friends here soon, but right now we're gonna go play with a couple other new characters on the other side of the fence. I should warn you, there are references to nudity in this chapter. Not enough to turn this into a mature reading by a long shot, because I'm sure we've seen worse looking in the mirror. Hee._

_I'm also working on a small (right now) character list to help me (and most likely you) keep track as the list expands. You'll find it on my account page thing. I should mention here that we're going to see at least one of every race, every class, and possibly quite a few of the various hero classes available in the RPG books in the course of this story, so if you have a favorite race, feel free to drop me a line and tell me why you like them!_

_I'm a sucker for elves, myself. There's just always been something about that particular fantasy race that catches my attention and keeps it pinned there. In WoW, I hold a special love for the Tauren. The native american feel of the race really brings me closer to my own Cherokee bloodline, and I'm not gonna lie... the thought of hugging one of them makes me turn a bit into Agnes from Despicable Me. I find trolls and gnomes to be the races I shy away from the most. The trolls because the accent is part of the play, and I get a headache trying to read them (even though plotting out Winnie's speech does the same thing, erk) and even speak like them. Gnomes are just... I guess I've never found a good gnome player I like. Chromie doesn't really count, since she's a dragon anyway, and not a player._

_What about you?_

_

* * *

_

"Out!"

That single word tore through the air, scattering birds and other flighty creatures just before the crashing tinkle of shattered glass rang out in the golden woods. Eversong was bathed in reds and golds, the light catching the fall-colored foliage and lending an unearthly beauty to the trees. Lynxes and dragonhawks prowled the woods, careless glances cast towards the source of the noise only to find little of interest, and so their day continued, most padding off to dens for a well-deserved rest.

The sound of broken glass was followed quickly by that of metal on metal, and twice more before it stilled, and all that there was that lingered was the sounds of heaving breaths. "One of these days, Tria... you're going to come around." The raven-haired male shifted, jumping back and bringing his blade forward once more to parry the woman's assault. The entire time, his grin was a maddening tease, the lust evident and complete in his eyes.

It angered her. No, anger was not even close to what Tiroth could bring her to, and she showed it with every lethal and calculated swing, her rage growing as he easily deflected each swipe. Even in full armor she was quick, the plate modified to allow her a true range of motion instead of the careful protection that would keep her tanned flesh from bearing a mark. One that appeared on her side, leaving a lash of red against her skin as her guard fell. The hiss of pain was not missed by her companion, his grin only growing when she dropped to her knee, one gloved hand pressing to the wound.

"Heal yourself, Triadae." His voice was a taunt, and he braved her wrath to step close enough to meet her eyes on his own knee, his hand reaching to stroke through the fire-red bangs that framed her pretty face. He loved the look of hate brimming in those emerald eyes, knowing that she was capable of a passion to match it. "You can't, can you. So it's true... you've given up the Light, given up our ways. For what? What could be so important to a little lost sheep that she'd – ah!"

The 'lost sheep' grinned as her palm met his nose, more than satisfied with the crunch she not only heard but felt. He stumbled away from her, landing on his seat while one hand moved to staunch the flow of blood from his nose, his eyes watering with unshed tears. She leapt upon her advantage, standing and ignoring the pain that shot up her side to brandish the claymore she so easily wielded. It came down beside him once, struck where he had been sitting and was now cringing from on the second blow, and the third met the golden aura of protection he was forced to throw up.

"This is my home, Tria! You can't keep me from it, or you, forever. Isn't it time you let the past go?" The strong voice had lost some of the teasing edge, had taken on a near plea. The shield held, keeping him safe as he stood, meeting the red-head's eyes with a sigh. He saw her answer there, and it was that alone that made him back away, throwing his own broadsword over his shoulder while the other hand was raised in a request for a truce.

She watched him, that amused grin that she assumed at his pain gone when the rush of adrenaline left as well. She knew, just as much as he did, that his retreat was a farce. He would be back, as he had always been over the course of the last few years. When it became apparent that he would not attack again, she relaxed, dragging the sharp edge of her blade along the ground in an idle threat before it was easily flipped up and onto her shoulder. "I did let it go. It's time you did as well."

For a long moment, only the wind seemed to speak between them, emerald eyes watching those of the other before Tiroth sighed, his gloved hand lifted to whistle for his stallion. The beast came, brushing by Triadae in an almost familiar way, a soft whicker offered just beside her ear. When Tiroth mounted, it pranced in place for a second, then turned as if to leave. "How many times must I say that I am sorry before you believe me? How many times before you accept it was a mistake, and we go back to the way things were? We need you, all of us do. I need you."

"You waste your breath. We _used_ to be of one mind, like a stream that raced through an endless wilderness. I was not the one who drove the rock into our midst, and forced us to crash around and be forever separated." She turned on her heel, her metal-encased boot crunching over broken glass. "Remember that, when you speak of peace. Remember that, when you mock me for letting go."

Triadae ignored his sputtered response, a quick snap of her fingers making his stallion rear and bolt off into the dense woods. That malicious grin appeared again, but vanished once more as the woods became silent. They did not remain that way for long, and she had no need to turn and view the newcomer without knowing who it was.

"You could give him some credit for being so stubborn, you know." The husky voice was laced with a mirthless chuckle. She expected nothing less. "To think. You once bent beneath his hand for even the slightest scrap of attention. Now you scorn him like he has developed leprosy or become a trogg."

The red-head snorted. "By any standard, he _is_ a trogg. Albeit one in shiny armor, with well-kept hair." She knelt, picking up shards of glass to turn them between her fingers, a sigh leaving her. "Seventh window this month. Perhaps I should take out all the glass and deal with the drafts."

"Or, you could accept him again and deal with no drafts but the ones between your dusty legs." Kalthor smirked when her angry gaze turned on him, and the fel-caster offered an innocent shrug of his shoulders as his imp screeched with laughter. "I'm only offering my opinion, oh most forbidden of fruit." His long blonde hair fell over his eyes as he dropped into a regal bow, looking up at her in time to catch the shard of glass headed at him. He deflected it easily, grabbing up his demon as a shield and smirking cruelly as the shard sunk into the little thing's leg. "Now, now..."

"Shut up and fix my window, fel-sucker." Tria growled beneath her breath, turning and making her way into the home once more, her boots forcing creaks from the stairs beneath her frustrated stomping. Kalthor reached down, tearing the bloody shard from his servant's leg and musing at the ichor covered glass. "You heard the woman, Piznap. What the Lady Virtue wants, she gets."

The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the sound of glass being tossed into a pile, and the few loud yelps of pain from the wounded demon. The woman frowned slightly, or perhaps just a bit more than her lips were usually set. It was hard, these days, to know exactly how she felt by reading her expression. Anyone who tried would think she had two emotions; annoyed, and severely pissed off. They wouldn't be too far off, usually. Tria sighed, settling her back against the wooden door.

In this secluded neck of the woods, most just passed by the strangely out of place home. Far from the walls of Silvermoon, the two story building was a combination of elven marble and human architecture, built to withstand time, weather, and thieves. The last had become a more common occurrence of late, and while most of the elven homes were well warded, Tria kept her own home firmly under lock and key. Somehow, it had kept the little home safe where the wards of others had been fried, and the quarters looted. It was a home meant for a family, with an open and welcoming living room, spacious kitchen, and three bedrooms on the second floor.

Tria enjoyed her family time, with her armor taking up the second bedroom, her collection of swords the third, leaving her the master bedroom all to herself. The simple four poster bed and vanity were the only furniture in the room, and the bed was soon accompanied by her armor. Despite the distraction of Kalthor's visit, her attention was quickly brought back to her immediate annoyance; the lovely cut along her side. She was happy, if only internally, to find that it was shallow. It bled again only because she had moved and reopened it.

With her hand pressed lightly over the wound, the blood elf made her way into the bathing room. The dresser had been brought into the room, pushed up against one wall. Directly across, a frosted glass window allowed light to filter into the room, while adding a comforting amount of privacy. It hadn't originally been frosted, but Kalthor was becoming quite creative with his methods of repairing broken glass. Wood was another thing entirely, but with the sheer curtains, no one really saw the gouges or the bloodstain.

The bath was nothing special. A simple marble tub against a wall, with a somewhat magical tap for water. Magical in that it was connected to nothing, and somehow still managed to not only fill the bath, but was perfectly capable of producing either clear and fresh water, or water laced with sudsy bubbles that piled around the bather in such a way that would make snow jealous. It was that very thing she wanted now, opening the tap and striding to the dresser, her fingers tugging at the bandages that held her breasts down.

Her other hand reached, pulling open one drawer and then another, stopping only when the muffled tinkle of glass was heard amongst the pour of water. She withdrew a small box only to set it atop the dresser, opening it and lightly dancing fingertips over the vials that lay within. The last was less of a vial and more of a small pot, and it was this one that she chose, with much the same delight as a child picking out a sweet.

Her hand left her bindings, dropping the flimsy linen down as she sat on the edge of the bath. The pot was soon opened, and her deft fingers scooped out a gelatinous paste, her breath hitching briefly and then releasing through gritted teeth as the balm was smeared over the wound. The skin stitched itself closed beneath her fingers, leaving only a thin line to mark where it once had been. She remained still for a few moments, smoothing the last of the balm into her skin while she thought.

Two years ago, she'd have been able to take care of such a simple wound without the need for balms and ointments. Things changed over time, and she was just another example amidst a sea of them. She knew that even the thin line would be gone within a few days; a papercut rarely stuck around for too long. Still, her dependency on the small things bothered her in a way she wouldn't admit aloud.

Wriggling free from the simple linen shorts she wore beneath her simple armor, the red-head dropped herself into the bath, using her foot to turn the tap off. While she settled back against the cool material, the small bubbles popping between her skin and the marble, her hands were wandering and sloughing off the dirt and grime of the day. It wasn't long before she felt herself drift, an arm slung over the edge of the tub while she let herself become drowsy.

"Your hand is shaking."

One eye opened to fall on the slender frame that leaned against the door, his lips quirked in the everlasting cocky set they seemed to take. Kalthor shrugged at her silence, making his way to the dresser to open a smaller drawer between the two, removing a small ring with a blue stone. "Here." He tossed it, his grin widening as he heard the distinctive plop of metal into the bath, and the groan from Tria herself. "Better get it, or I'll go in myself."

"Over my dead body." Triadae fetched the ring that had sunk to nestle between her breasts, idly twirling the wet metal ring between her fingers before deftly slipping it on, her eyes closing. The magics that lingered within seemed to fuel her, calming her mind and convincing her body that, while it certainly had not just consumed it's fair share of mana or fel, it didn't really need to know that. The feeling was near euphoric, but the woman had been using the ring for so long now that it was mostly just a buzz that left her feeling... better. "Thistle is in the bottom drawer. You know the rule."

"No one knows where I got it, and I don't use it anywhere near your comely abode." The fel-caster mimicked her own toneless voice, drawing the small packet out from where it had been hidden and stowing it away within his robes. A moment passed where it seemed he would leave, but instead he turned to the window and ran his fingers along the lightly fogged glass. "The Knights don't really need you, you know. No one does."

"If that's your way of cheering me up, you're doing a fantastic job of it."

He glanced back at her, a shrug of his shoulders offered before he sat himself on the edge of the bath, next to her head. His hands reached out, gathering the oddly cropped hair she sported in his hands, and raking fingers through the loose ends. It was an odd style, but he rather liked it on her. The entire things was a set of three or four layers meant to keep the rather thick hair manageable. The shortest 'layer' were really the loose fringe that made up her bangs and framed her heart-shaped face. The next was longer, settling around her shoulders. This was rarely tied back into the final two layers, one that reached to the bottom of her shoulders, and the last that ran the rest of the length to just above the swell of her rear.

It was always bound with a leather cord, the ends decorated with beads if the woman felt up to the effort. At one point, the hair had been one length, and immaculately kept, but he himself had burned it with earlier experiments, things she had tried to stop him from doing. He had fallen from arcanist to fel-caster, and she had gained a new hairstyle for it. She could always fix it now, if she wanted... but he knew she liked the style as well, and it could be bound up easily if she wanted it all out of her face.

"Tiroth won't stop until you simply accept. Not now, and maybe not ever. You're young yet, old enough to battle but not old enough to give up on all the rest of it. He does have a point, Triadae. How many times before you just give in?" He twirled the crimson strands around his fingertips, his head tilted. "There's other options, other -..."

"Like accepting you?" Her eyes opened, a soft sigh leaving her. "I didn't intend for that to seem to cruel. Our ways are different, Kalthor. I warned you, when you started playing with the fel-magic and ran off with Kael'thas through the portal. I warned you then that if you left, you wouldn't like what you came back to, if you even did."

"Your ways weren't much better. Or do you forget that for every moment I spent draining fel energy, you were aiding in the draining of that Naaru?" His voice was cold, but the chill was not directed at her. They had both been proud to be what they were, and it was sweet words that had convinced them otherwise. Once Quel'dorei, and now Sin'dorei, it was a change neither could ever turn back on. Hindsight was always clearer.

Triadae remained quiet for a long time, her fingers tapping out a rhythm all their own on the inside of the bath. When she at last spoke, it was as she sat up, the slowly dying foam clinging to her bare curves while she stood and let the water drain. There was no amount of shame when she reached past the warlock, smirking just slightly at his grunt when her breast lightly trailed along his ear. Towel fetched, she was wrapped securely. "You do have a point there. I'm not needed here, there, or anywhere. The Knights don't need me, and even if they did I would show them where they could shove their swords."

"Tactful, really." Kalthor's arms folded over his chest, practically glaring at the brazen woman. A few decades prior, she'd have thrown a tantrum for him being near her nude. Now it felt more like he was just another girl. Combat had changed his friend, even if he was loathe to admit it.

"I learn from the best." She bent, scooping up the length of linen used to bind her breasts, already heading back to her armor. It didn't take her long to redress, peering back around the corner at the blonde elf still sitting on the edge of her bath. "Well? Come on."

"Er..." For once, true confusion appeared on his features, an elegant brow cocked.

"If I'm going, you are too." She vanished, her steady footsteps echoing out the hall and back down the stairs. Kalthor blinked, then stood and made his way out after her.

"Where are you - … we going?"

"Anywhere but here, Kal. Anywhere but here."


	8. Chapter Seven: Miralai

**AN: **_A couple more characters, and a teensy bit of background on Triadae and Tiroth. Not much, you'll probably have to put the puzzle together on your own. It gets clarified down the road, but not for a bit. Lots of fun stuff to play with in this chapter. And before it is mentioned; yes, I know Vryn wouldn't be allowed near any city no matter how good her intentions were. I know she would be KoS, no matter what favors she's done. But I need her, at least for a little bit. So please endure my minor lore-fudgery there. At least she doesn't sparkle, and she's not a vampire._

* * *

Silvermoon was a place of wonder, normally. Right now, it was a place of ridicule. Tiroth grunted a greeting to the initiates that swarmed the Hall of Blood, trying desperately to ignore their sly smirks when they realized he had, once again, returned empty-handed. Over the course of two years, they had begun a near ritual when it came to Tiroth and Triadae, but the bets weren't on his side. No one thought he would have a chance, anymore.

He didn't blame them.

"I see your romancing has fallen flat yet again, my friend." Tiroth's shoulders only moved slightly in an affirmative, his lips pulled in a frown that was filled with more sadness than actual anger. Hana'rae knew the look, and her own mirrored the sadness she felt for him. The blonde was a tiny thing, surprisingly strong for her frail build, but where most of the Knights wore encompassing plate that deflected the blows they were expected to take, hers was a decorative chain-mail dress of red and gold. Beneath it was a form-fitting bodysuit of enchanted blackweave. The man had broken flimsy weapons on that deceptively thin cloth, and had stopped warning her of the dangers of such light armor since then.

Her talent was not in the defensive skills that the Light granted her, nor even the mass damage capable of a Knight. No, hers was the gentle touch of a mending heart, and she was one of the better skilled at it. The Light never failed to answer her, perhaps because she never had the will to force it to. The woman was a stalwart soldier and friend, _especially_ when it came to matters of the heart. Only she knew the full depths of his pain in the altercation with the red-headed Tria, and only she kept the perfect balance of understanding both sides perfectly.

"You aren't going to cry again, are you?" Hana'rae fell into step behind him, her metal-laced tome and the chains around her slim waist clinking lightly against her armor. The short-cropped hair that framed her oval face was fine, almost like down, and there was a near permanent crimp in it near the edges where she had once been forced to bind it behind her head at the nape of her neck. It gave her an almost celestial look, when paired with her eyes. How she kept the innocent air was beyond him, but he didn't question that, either.

Tiroth shook his head, a half-hearted chuckle parting his lips. "No. Not this time." She never let him forget how they met, even if it was a gentle tease spoken beneath her breath so the others wouldn't laugh. The ones who had seen combat and lost loved ones would never dare to give him grief for his mourning, no matter how different their reasons were. The younger, more inexperienced? Well... they would learn one day. Everyone learned.

_'It's okay to cry, you know. No one will laugh, not here.' _His mind echoed her words from that day, when he had found himself far below the main floor of the Hall. A room akin to the one that once held the trapped Naaru, but was meant for personal meditation. Back then, there weren't many who used it, and it had become a sanctum for him. A place of solitude where he could be alone with his pain. Until Hana'rae had seen him there. Her bright eyes had watched him with such care, as if afraid if she moved from the cushion she was reading on, he would flee from her friendly presence. _'I won't tell... if you need to cry.'_

So he had. The man who had sealed the fates of countless men and women in the wrong, had drawn blood of those who attacked his beloved home, and had lost more comrades in battle than he cared to admit, dropped to his hands and knees, and cried. Only moments passed until he felt her touch, delicate fingers weaving through his hair before she tucked herself against him, drawing his head to her breast and laying her own atop his. She judged nothing, listening to the agony of his words as he sobbed. Every last truth was laid bare before her, and when at last his sobs had stopped...

_'If we never felt pain in loss, how would we know what the value is in what has left us? If there was no punishment for what we had done wrong, where would we learn to never treat those we loved in such ways? You made a mistake, such a grievous error... now your burden will be the wedge that was dropped between you, placed there by your own hands. You wronged her, and now she wrongs you by holding such a hate in her heart for you. You are both in the right, and in the wrong. But it's okay now...' _Her smile was kind, her tone like a mother to child as she tilted his head up so his eyes could meet hers, _'because if you ever need it, you can cry here. With me.'_

"As you wish, Master Everdawn. Shall I run through the daily happenings with you so that you are caught up?" Her gaze broke from his back, a brief nod given to an initiate who happened to cross their path as they made their way to his own quarters.

Tiroth nodded, pushing aside the filmy curtains that lined his alcove, gesturing for her to step in before himself. When he followed her in, it was with the mental thought and pang of sadness as he thought of how much more he preferred the wooden door of that home in the woods. He settled behind the wooden desk, toying briefly with a floating candle as she spoke.

"Emetrine and Lazler wounded each other again in practice. We've taken their weapons and fitted them with padded wood until they can learn that their sparring is not supposed to leave them near death." Her lips quirked in an amused grin, "They were spotted 'tending each others wounds' in one of the alcoves just before you got back." A moment passed, and her head tilted thoughtfully. "There were no reports of trouble on the outer borders, though some of the magelings have spoken of an outbreak of trolls in the east."

"Let them deal with them then," was his only reply. Tiroth leaned upon the desk, his hands folded in thought. "Anything else?"

Hana'rae could barely suppress her grin when a small form tumbled out of the corner of the room, the discarded cloak rumpled around the chair that the little girl had been so patiently waiting in. "Oh, and your daughter is here to see you." The woman watched the tiny child clamber up into her father's lap, his expression of sadness gone before the smiling visage of his flesh and blood.

"Ann'da!"

"Miralai. How long were you hiding there, my little Light?" Tiroth smiled, brushing raven hair out of the eyes of the little girl as she situated herself properly.

"Rae told me if I was very quiet, you would be surprised!" Miralai smiled brightly, reaching out to play with the pens scattered along her father's desk while the adults talked. This was how it was for the little one, having been raised with a caretaker instead of her parents. Rare moments like this were snuck in between assignments and wars. She was a quiet girl, but knew her father without a doubt. When he came home from combat, she was there waiting for him.

"Since you left this morning. You missed Yri by mere moments, so Mira waited here with me. She was a very good girl." The woman waved her fingers, a delicate sphere of golden light forming and hovering above the tips that she lightly tossed to the eager child, who caught it only to have it pop like a fragile bubble, glittering sparks sent out harmlessly around her. "Shall I leave you two alone for a ti – hm?"

Miralai's eyes had gone to the door, the elders following to alight on the woman who stood there, a hand on the frame while the other clutched at her breast. Behind her, others were appearing and vanishing, the clang of armor and blade echoing down the hall in a familiar crescendo of sound that made the hairs on the back of their necks rise. Yri gasped for a few moments, her eyes holding an apologetic sort of look until she finally spoke.

"Wretched..." The woman's eyes flared with a mix of fear, pity, and anger. "On the Row." When Tiroth looked as if to shrug off the warning, the lithe woman stalked forward, grabbing Miralai from his lap and gesturing to a map that hung from the wall, seemingly capable of only that as she shifted the young girl in her arms.

Tiroth had only to look at the parchment for a moment, his eyes widening. "Keep Mira here. Both of you, stay. Hana'rae, with me." The man stood, nearly barreling into a group of others who were headed in his same direction. "Kratos, Nola, Anandor! With me!" His voice echoed down the hall, the chirrups of the initiates he called filtering back. Hana'rae cast a single look to the parchment map, her head shaking before she also left, leaving Yri to deal with a squirming and upset young girl.

* * *

"Once. Just once, I would like to leave you alone long enough to get things I need without you drawing attention to yourself." Tria's eyes darted sideways, glancing only briefly at Kalthor. Long enough to catch that same cocky grin, and the flash of fire in his eyes. "I wish you didn't look like you enjoyed this so much."

"Oh, but I love it so very much." The warlock's fingers twitched, only just enough to make certain that Tria would catch the gesture and move as shadow coalesced around his hand and jumped to the stumbling, muttering figure in front of them. It screamed, sounding more like a drowning rat than anything as threatening as it was. "Vryn, if you would kindly make sure the things I asked for are ready?"

"Oh, yes. I will get right on that. Would you like them with or without Wretched?" The sarcastic voice was familiar to anyone who roamed the Row long enough. Vryn'dell was the proprietor of a small shop tucked away in the darkest of alleys, where one who was up to no good could find anything they needed to make their mission possible. Assuming, of course, that she had found the needed items. The elven woman was not looked upon kindly, and not at all with any amount of pity. Stepping out of her shop was grounds for slaughter, and so she paid others to gather the priceless items she so desperately required.

The rumors of her existence abounded. They whispered that she was not Sin'dorei, not anymore. Too long had she drained the fel-energies of demons in Outland, and now her body and mind had taken the toll. What faced them now was far worse. Where Vryn was one aspect of a very real fear for Kalthor himself, the Wretched were a real reminder just how real their addiction was, and how badly it could change them in an instant.

What was now a large pack of insatiable Wretched was, just moments ago, friends and family to those who lingered in the walls. Mages, warlocks, even haughty priests. Now, they were nothing. Ragged breaths followed the silence from the harmed one as it fell, shadow consuming the painfully thin form until nothing was left but a ragged pile of fel-touched cloth. No one moved, or even dared to breath louder than was necessary, until someone moved.

At the edge of the alley, three young elves wandered, unknowingly in more danger than they could possibly understand even if they had been paying attention. Triadae felt them approach with the keen sense that battle had gouged into her, and she barely had time to shout a warning before the first scream started. As one, the pack of Wretched turned and fell upon the group, and without thought, Tria followed. A pale hand shot up from the group as they were set upon, and the warrior grasped it and pulled, the sobbing form of one of the young scholars falling against her, still screaming.

She knew, with a gut wrenching pain that she could not explain, that the other two were already dead. It was more merciful than what she would have had to do to them, drained of all magic and essence. They would be nothing more than what had attacked them, what was now turning wanting gazes on the still screaming woman in her arms. "Kal!" Tria's eyes dared to look back over her shoulder, "Something! Now!"

"Allow me, Kalthor." Vryn's voice was thick with something that Kalthor knew all too well, and he stepped aside while shooting a glance up the other side of the alley. Beneath the elven woman, lines of green etched deep into the stone, winding into intricate patterns and runes. They flared with sickly green light, drawing the attention of the Wretched off of Triadae and onto the power she so easily wielded. Vryn's eyes closed, her dark lips pulling back into a sinister smile. The scrollwork continued, breaking lines into floors and up into walls, the light melding and seeming to grow, and Tria let out a slew of curses that would have made sailors turn pale.

"Move. Move now!" The girl was all but thrown behind the warrior, who turned and quickly grabbed her arm. The screaming had at last stopped, turning into a rambling babble that wasn't going to do anyone much good. Triadae sighed, almost sprinting past Vryn to dash into the woman's shop as Vryn's spell completed. She did not want to be out there when _they_ arrived.

They did. The green glow along the walls spiraled and formed into three fel-green swirling portals, and Tria was forced to clap a hand over the mouth of the girl as they watched what emerged. Cloven feet stepped lightly from the portals, the preliminary to a rarely seen event. A trio of incubi watched the glowing portals cease behind them, sharing a cruel grin with Vryn before combat began once more.

When it came to Vryn, the rumors were almost true. Her once pale skin had darkened to a jet, golden hair to a snow white, and the lines of fel green that formed demonic runes on her slender body were there, no matter how dim they may have been. She did not have the characteristic horns or small, almost feathered wings that the other Fel Blood elves had, but she had enough to be ostracized from her kin. The only reason she had not been killed and banished were the numerous enchantments from friendly arcanists, those who never would be alive without the items she sold.

Never before had she summoned demons into the midst of the city. She knew, even if the others did not, that this would be the last day she would spend within the walls of the city she loved and adored so much. What a way to make an exit. The incubi charged into the crowd of Wretched, half in defense of their caller, and half... because they could. Triadae heard the final gurgles of enemies, motioning for the whimpering woman to remain in the shop just before darting out and into the fray herself.

One incubus was already dead, drained of his magic and blood, but it was having a poor effect on the ones who had sucked him dry. They had changed in those seconds, the blue growths on their back popping like cysts and spraying their comrades with a sickly ichor that made even the warrior stop in disgust. Their blue eyes turned green, and seemed ready to burst from their sockets, and their mouths had dessicated, drooling black liquid that she had no care to wonder exactly what it was. Of all of them, one towered over the others, his chest sunken in deeply, markings around his eyes, and the growths that had once been blue were now green, and double their size. He didn't even look elven anymore.

The second incubus fell, drawing Tria from her trance in time to dodge a line of fire that coursed along the ground, searing three of the lesser Wretched. Her angry gaze back at an innocent-looking Kalthor gave the largest of them the chance to grip her, claws curling around the long tail she kept so neatly tied back. With a growl, the woman's arm hooked around the hair, coiling it about her skin to brace for the tug as she wrenched it from his hands.

It grabbed for her again, and she danced out of it's grasp, her eyes on the target while fire seared the lesser beings around her. The third incubus fell, and the monster swelled to twice his height, towering over the warrior and threatening to drip that black ooze onto her head. There was a sound, a shout from behind her, and she felt her arm grabbed. Taken by surprise, she collapsed against the young woman she had rescued, who shot her a dazed and somewhat shy smile. She looked about to speak, and then the thing screamed, and there were more voices.

Vryn darted into the shop, vanishing behind the counter only a moment, three large bags placed up onto the surface. "This is what he asked for. The Knights are here. My time to flee." Her eyes went to the shop door, where the Wretched was visible just barely beneath a swarm of armor and swords. "Tell him... tell him he still owes me. Just do that, and these are free of cost. Promise!"

"I... I promise." Tria shot the woman a puzzled look, accepting the smile in return that the fel-caster gave, and... she disappeared. The warrior waited for the laugh that normally accompanied such tricks, but there was none. In the blink of an eye, Vryn had vanished, and she had nothing to tell Kalthor but that he still owed the woman. "Men are not worth the trouble." She muttered it beneath her breath, the scared young woman nodding eagerly along.

Her attention went outside as the shouts stopped, and one long scream was heard. The Wretched wasn't in sight, and upon leaving the shop, she realized they had dragged it out of the alley and into plain view, where more than just the Knights had brought the twisted being down. It lay in a burning heap, slowly dissolving in its own fluids. Motioning for the girl to follow her, she caught sight of Kalthor talking to a guard, and moved to go the other way.

"Triadae!"

_'Oh for the love of...' _Her fingers flexed, and she took a deep breath before turning on her heel, managing her falsest smile possible as she looked up at Tiroth's face. "Why, twice this week. To what do I owe the honor?" Behind her back, her hands moved in such a way that the young girl moved away quickly, only to be caught by another Knight and pulled into discussion with him.

"I should have known I would find you here. Causing trouble again?" His eyes narrowed. "Where is your sword? I've had company with it so often I'm astonished to find you without it."

"Some of us don't bear weapons when we go to buy a few things before we travel, Everdawn." A few of the Knights around them smothered snickers, only making her glare at the lot of them until they silenced. "And before you ask," her finger lifted, silencing the questions she knew he was going to ask, "I'm not telling you. It's none of your business, and you'd best keep out of mine or I'll add another mark to your shiny new armor." Her head dipped in a slight nod as Hana'rae appeared at Tiroth's side. "It's good to see you again, Hana. You are doing well for yourself."

The blonde smiled, dropping into a bow meant for those above her in station. Only when she straightened again did she speak, her tone amused when she caught the conflicted look of pain and annoyance on Triadae's features. "I was told to come and tend to any wounds. Have you suffered some that I may tend to?"

Triadae shook her head, fingers catching in her hair a brief moment as she pushed her bangs from her eyes. "No, Hana. Despite my proximity to the problem, I was not in any sort of trouble." She winked at the female, and both of them shared a silent thanks, though for different reasons. "If you'll excuse me, I have some unfinished business to attend to."

"Triadae. I expect a full report on my desk in the morning." The male's arms crossed over her chest, a hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

She seemed to consider this, tapping her lips briefly before shrugging. "Better than expecting a report in your bed." She waved a hand dismissively, turning on her heel. "Not that you were ever spec - ..."

"Ann'da!"

Triadae's eyes shot to the sound of the voice, centering on the little girl that dashed forward and wrapped her arms tightly about Tiroth's leg, refusing to let go. The silence around them was deafening, and it broke only with a sigh from Tiroth as he bent and scooped up the blood elven child. The warrior scoured the young features, feeling herself pushed almost immediately to the brink of tears, of yelling and shouting, and of sorrowful pleas to hold the child just for a moment. She settled herself by stepping close to the pair, her fingers reaching out to brush the raven hair that covered Mira's eyes in a messy cascade.

The fragile moment was broken by the touch of Kalthor on her arm, a touch she knew from the way it made her skin crawl. Her eyes flicked up to Tiroth's, her voice gentle for what seemed the first time in years. "She looks like her father," that gentle voice hardened, and something else choked her, but the rage and hate was plain even then, "except her eyes. Those are her mother's eyes." Before he could retort, she had spun away on her heel, and was away and gone.

Kalthor watched his friend go, looking to the Blood Knight and his child only when the rest of the area had seemed to go back to normal. "It'll be on your desk. The report, I mean. I promise nothing more than that."

"You're going with her?" Tiroth's voice was quiet, his grip shifting as his daughter curled up in his arms and nuzzled her face into his neck.

"Of course. I'd do the show of kicking and screaming the whole way, but we both know I'd rather be there with her than not. You want me to keep an eye on her?" The blonde offered a nod to Hana, his scorched hand held out. Her fingers caressed the charred skin. "Fire is still a little chaotic since I've dabbled in Fel. I'm more likely to burn myself than a target, but Tria needed help." His smile was grateful as the mender worked, restoring his hand to working order. "Lovely. Thank you for that. I don't suppose you'd like to take me up on that drink?" His eyes flicked up to Tiroth, his grin widening. "No? Alright. Another time, then."

Hana'rae chuckled, watching the blonde stroll off with an assured swagger. "She'll be fine, Master Everdawn. No matter where she goes, she'll be fine."

Tiroth sighed, his eyes dropping down to the blood elven woman beside him. "For how long?" He was not assured as Hana shrugged, and reached up to ruffle Miralai's hair, then turned to make her way back to the others to complete her duties. He watched her go, glancing briefly back to the way Triadae had left, then sighed. Defeated again, the man made his way back to the others, passing off Miralai to a very worried and frazzled Yri.

* * *

"I saw her the other day. She's a tiny little thing, and looks too much like her father. She has your eyes, though. I'd never forget those eyes, no matter how hard I want to, sometimes. I can tell he loves her, so that's at least one thing that has gone right out of all the mess." Triadae leaned back against the tree, her palms pressed to the grass beside her. "First time I've seen her in all these years. How old must she be now? I can't even recall. I try not to think about it.

I figure you've been keeping her from me. I don't blame you, after all. Everything that happened, makes it hard to look at anything without feeling seething anger and hate. There's days I just want to punch him so hard I know he won't wake up, and others I want to collapse against him and just cry until nothing is left. Sometimes I want to go back to the way it all was, but then I feel guilty.

I shouldn't feel guilty, but I do. Seeing her just made me remember everything all at once, and in that brief moment, I felt so powerless. Is that what you wanted me to feel when I finally saw her? I suppose you told Kalthor not to tell me about her, too. I about died laughing when I heard she was named after you. That was right before I cried until my throat was raw. I'm glad you didn't name her after me. Would have been a horrible idea. Wouldn't want someone else to go stumbling off in my footsteps, would I? No... I wouldn't.

I'm leaving now, Mira. I don't know when I'll be back, or even if I ever will be. I feel the same loyalty to our people that I always have, no matter if we've changed or not... but I'm done with this. Kalthor's right, but maybe not in the way he thinks. I need to get out, and away. Before I do something stupid..."

"Hey." Kalthor slid from his dreadsteed, patting the vicious black armor as if the beast were a pet dog. It didn't seem to mind, staying where it was despite the fact it was ruining the grass beneath it's flaming hooves. He stepped close, offering a hand that she took to ease herself up. There was a wary silence as he watched her move to her hawkstrider, the black bird chittering a soft welcome as she fixed the straps of her sword. Only when she pulled herself up into the saddle did he look away, and down at where she had been sitting. "Does it help you?"

Triadae sighed softly, glancing at the mound of earth she had been sitting beside. "It's an empty grave, Kalthor." Her voice softened, dropping the tone that made it seem like he had asked a stupid question. "The only thing it helps me with, is knowing that there's nothing here holding me back. Let's go." She turned away, leaving him to stare after her, and then he too followed, and all there was to mark that they had been there was the charred patches of grass.


	9. Chapter Eight: Mapping the Way

**AN: **_... Nyah. Back to Brin we go! Still working on building the characters little by little. Here we learn of a fear that our little worgen harbors. And if someone's been paying special attention, they might notice something in this chapter that is similar to something in a past one. But I won't say what. I'm wicked like that. I'm also reeeeally buzzed on coffee and Monster. Just ignore me._

* * *

"I noticed you favor your right leg." Brinella was brought from her day dreams by the soft voice of Sura, the kaldorei meeting her gaze with one that was tinged by slight worry. "Is that why you do not join the others when they run and play?" The woman's hand flicked idly to the three who rolled and tussled in the fallen leaves.

The worgen watched the three who were playing, her head tilted slightly as if she were thinking. In reality, all she was doing was watching. Lydros and Winnie had taken up residence as companions to the young woman, but it seemed that no matter how hard they tried to bring her out of her shell, she never really cared to play. Ninya had no more success than they, but she had stopped trying so hard.

In truth, it was the animal companions who she trusted the most in these fragile moments. Shade seemed all too happy to play, and in that play, teach. Lydros' own mentor was a rugged man who looked as much the picture of the wilds as his own companion was. A massive and shaggy dire bear by the name of Grimfur, the animal would lie about during the day, but at night, he and Shade would both play with the druid and teach her in ways the others simply couldn't.

Laird and Sura Fallenwind were one of many who had settled outside the traditional city and towns. The little home was quaint by Brinella's own standards, but comparing the housing of one city that could barely consider itself to be existing and one that had been part of an ancient race, was almost an insult to the people that lived in both of them. There may not have been many rooms or much in the way of privacy, but a small place to seek shelter was better than enduring a storm outside.

Now, while the others did as they pleased, Brinella had once again found herself seated on one of the massive branches that spread outward from the great tree, her left knee tucked up beneath her chin while the other leg was hanging freely over the branch. As Sura made to sit beside the isolated girl, her attention went away from the others and to the leg that now waved above a frightening abyss.

"I don't notice it anymore, really." Her fingers ran over the leather-covered skin, pressing her palm down against the knee and rubbing slightly. "When I was young, I was playing in one of the stables on our farm. I had always been warned not to go in there alone, or even play in that particular one, but I did anyway. Like most children did." She managed a wan smile at the kaldorei woman, who returned it with an amused chuckle. "My brother had chores to do with the horses, so I was playing up in the rafters. I ended up caught in some of the rope up there; I tripped, or something else. I'm still not sure. The beam was an old one, and when I fell from it, the rope I had encountered coiled around my leg."

Brinella pulled up the loose leather, turning just enough to show the very slight marks that tangled around her calf. "The weight of me dropping had already pulled the leg from the knee, but insult was added to injury, and the beam collapsed too. It splintered and fell," she turned more, showing the wound in the joint of her knee, "and my leg was skewered. It took a long time, and I was really very lucky to not have had more damage, but I eventually recovered. I suppose I'll always favor the leg."

Sura nodded, her fingers reaching out to brush along the old wound. "Your healer was good, but not complete." The woman's silver eyes flicked back up to Brinella's. "I would offer, but a wound this old cannot be mended without inflicting damage once again, and even then it is not a sure thing."

The worgen chuckled, and shook her head while drawing the pant leg back down. "No, he wasn't complete. He was incredibly rushed, as it was short notice and he had far more important things to do. My brother could only find him, and wanted me healed before our parents returned from market." Brinella smiled feebly, looking back out over the horizon. "It took a little bit to learn to walk with that bit of pain, and he was in a big sort of trouble when it was explained to my parents what had happened... but I could at least walk, and I barely notice the pain anymore. All that I'm left with is a fear of falling."

"Yet you sit out here, with nothing beneath you but a branch and an endless expanse of open air free to plummet through." Sura chuckled. "You are a brave girl. I cannot name many who would do the same, no matter how far in their past their fear may have begun. That is not what I have come to talk with you about, however. While the others play, I wish to give you this." From beneath the overcoat she wore, Sura produced a rolled parchment, and made to place it between them.

Brinella scooted quickly, her head tilted. With a motion from Sura, she moved to straddle the branch, her hands pinning the parchment to the bark of the tree. "This here is the map I carried with me in my travels." Delicate fingers moved over the faint lines, and they darkened until a clear map of Teldrassil was before them, tiny markings made, with notes for each that scrolled in the borders in such a fine hand that Brinella was forced to look quite close in order to read any of it. "This particular version is quite rare. There was a high elven sorcerer who fought in the battle for Hyjal. Our friendship could hardly be called that, but he enjoyed his cartography when he had the time. When the battle was over, I received one of these before we parted." Sura's fingers moved, and the lines faded and retraced themselves, becoming maps of places Brinella had never heard of, let alone seen. She drank it in, unaware that Sura was watching her with a look that seemed part jealousy, and part adoration.

As the images passed by, notes and diagrams scrolled through borders and away from her vision once more, the young worgen found herself entranced. Her words were filled with a child-like wonder when she finally spoke. "This... it's just one piece of parchment, but the maps are endless!" Her fingers dove between parchment and tree, determined to find the mechanism that made such possible, and found nothing. "These would fill books upon books... but you have it all here." Brinella looked up at Sura, her head tilted. "But... why show me these things?"

"This is a very special map. I never did ask him how it worked, but I never really cared to, either. Our love for the high elves is … not very large. They are our brethren, yes... but we don't have to like them." Sura's fingers brushed along the ever coiling pictures and landmarks, and they stopped, forming only the outline of an area. "In the years that have passed, I have seen and done many things. I have been places that would make your head spin with how fantastic they are, and places that would run your blood cold for the horrors that linger there. Yet... I have not been everywhere." The kaldorei sighed, looking over her shoulder to the broad-shouldered form of her mate.

"My place is here with Laird, now. While wanderlust still takes hold of me tightly sometimes, I will not go without him, and he refuses. The world is a changed place, and here I am, caged to my love and my people." Her smile was weak. "We've tried so long to bring a child to this plane, and now that I am finally carrying, I know he won't let me wander as I please. I am happy that we will know this joy, but..."

"But you don't want to feel trapped." Brinella finished, for once showing a mixture of agreement with someone other than herself. "I know the feeling. A child is a very important thing, Sura." She stumbled, still not entirely comfortable with calling the woman by her name in such an informal manner. "When the world changes again, you will be able to travel with them."

"Perhaps, but that is for later, and not for now. You have a roaming heart, and so we are much the same and I feel comfortable confessing my... unhappiness, to you. 'Nella, what do you plan to do?" When Brinella gave her only a confused look, the priestess gestured around her. "You are not behind a wall anymore. You have a world to explore, and things to learn. Where will you go?"

For a long time, the worgen had no answer. There were countless things she wanted to do and see, but none seemed so important as one. "I want to find Cor, and my brother. That is the most important thing to me right now. Everything else that I enjoy will come with it, I hope." Gently, she picked the map up and looked over it, as if memorizing the outline that was there.

"I had hoped you might say that. Take this with you, then. I've no need of it now, and I would dearly love for it to be completed. Do not worry about needing ink for it." Sura reached for the parchment, rolling it back up and giving it a final loving stroke before handing it back. "Finish it. While you travel, and while you find what you need to. Let it help you look back on the good and the bad in equal measure." There was a moment of silence, and when she spoke again, her voice was uncertain. "What if you don't find them? If you find that your entire search has been for nothing?"

Brinella chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. "I've thought about it. If I find that they are dead, then at least I know. If I find them and they are different than before, and there can be no way to live with them as I once did? I'll... accept it. It will hurt if it comes to that, but I will do it. Should I never find them? Then I will search until the day my last breath escapes me."

Sura smiled, her eyes going out over the sea below them, barely visible beneath the mist that had begun to creep in as the sun set, throwing golds and reds haphazardly against blues and greens of lush woods. "Very brave, indeed..."

* * *

Night had fallen hours ago, and now only the stars and full moon kept the two who were entwined together company. The large tree they had found was thick with branches that held a person comfortably, and were good for privacy when it was needed. Lydros lay with one leg thrown over the outside of the branch, dangling freely while the lithe form of Ninya rested next to him, her leg thrown over his own and her head on his chest. His head was supported by an arm, the other wrapped around the rogue's shoulders to allow his fingers to trail feather-light along one of her lengthy ears.

"You're quiet." The woman smirked, opening her eyes at last to follow the trail of her fingers along his stomach, before bracing on the opposite side of his body to let her loom over him. "More so than usual. Which means you're thinking again, and your thoughts are always ones to be shared."

"The girl is planning to leave." His own eyes left the sky above them, flicking to hers and then back to the starry expanse. "I wonder if it would be best for me to accompany her. On the one hand, we learn best by doing on our own. On the other, I wonder if she is blind to what is important. She seeks a man who ran from her, and another who has left nothing. Reports have been flooding in that the lands we knew have changed, some of them drastically..."

"You treat her like a child, Lydros. You watch her like a hawk, correct her when she steps out of line, but withdraw the moment it looks like she might open up. She stays away from all of us because the mixed messages that we all send are confusing to her." Ninya sighed, brushing his hair from his eyes in a tender motion. "She's not a child. She's just barely a woman, but certainly not a child. You would break her now, and leave her weakened for what may eventually come, on a hunch?"

"I know what it is like to hold out hope." With a growl, the male sat up, barely registering that his bedmate had slipped behind him, leaning against his back. "I held on to hope with Irial for two years after Hyjal. If I did it all again, I'd have actually listened to those who said she was dead and gone, instead of holding out hope that she'd walk through that door. It's a miserable existence, Ninya. Not one I'd wish on anyone." He sighed, pressing one palm to his forehead. "I feel like it would be better for someone to be there when she has her inevitable disappointment."

"Why can't you just believe that she isn't wrong? That what she's looking for is out there, perhaps waiting for her?" Ninya smiled sadly, nipping his ear lightly. "Just because you'd never leave someone you loved doesn't means others wouldn't do it to get something that needs to be done, done." She sighed, drawing away to let her fingers slip along his back before swinging her legs over the branch. "The downside of you being quiet is that I know it's a sign for me to get lost. Goodnight, Lydros."

She was gone before he could say anything, leaving him with his mouth open in slight protest. Another thick growl stirred deep in his chest, and after breathless moments of waiting for her to return, as if she could possibly read his mind and know what he was thinking only to have her impish smile not return, the hunter released a sigh and let himself fall back to lay beneath the stars, silently damning them for their aloofness in his moment of need.


	10. Chapter Nine: Banished by Folly

**AN: **I wasn't really trying anything with this chapter, except pushing Theron off to where he's going to need to be later. My biggest question for myself is in regards to the altercation. Why didn't anyone stop it? Darnassus has more than enough Sentinels who could have stopped such a thing, and then I realized that, ya know... maybe Theron's one of those people so horrible that even the law turns their heads away. Really, I don't know if that would happen. In Kaldorei history, we see a lot of banishing. The kaldorei who would later become the high elves, Illidan, the original worgen-cursed night elves, Staghelm... they've all been banished in one form or another, and some have been placed in places to keep them safe or put them in time-out or what have you.

It's fun to think of the different ways of punishment one sees through the world, both in game and out. Banishing a person or persons only works for so long, and then we end up having our heroes who need to do the messy work. Because of course, without bad guys, what would we smush to get our purples fr - ... I mean, how else would we make the cities love us? (Say Runecloth, and I will harm you.)

For fun, if you've got a question regarding the story so far? Let me know. Either in the reviews, or in a private message. You can even ask a character a question, if you like. I don't mind! They're a chatty bunch, and don't bite. Well, Winnie might.

* * *

Falling.

She knew the feeling, and knew what was at the end would kill her, but even the knowledge of that was somehow stripped from her as easily as her breath. There was nothing between her and death but vast emptiness, and she savored the moments that ticked by as if time had been slowed to a crawl. Above her, his lips still quirked in that painfully sadistic manner, Theron merely folded his arms and watched her fall.

There had never been a scream, not a vocal one. Perhaps in her mind, a sobbing wail as her feet left their purchase and she was dimly aware of the pain of contact on her back where the broad hand of the hunter had viciously pushed her and then recoiled so that she could not tear him down with her as he so believed she might do. Her eyes closed, and everything else just faded away. Nothing existed but the sound of air whipping through her hair and her breath leaving her...

… and she loved it. Anyone she had once known would have thought she had gone mad, but her body twisted around, her arms thrown wide to feel the air cup and push against her body, and then she'd tilt and drop like a falling arrow only to right herself again, somehow aware that she was slowing herself without the use of magic. All the while her eyes remained closed, blinding herself to the inevitable so that all she would know would be that feeling.

Freedom.

The feeling that all winged creatures now shared with her for those fleeting moments, and she was loathe to give it up as she knew she would have to. For once she felt the desperate hate that seemed to make all people fight against fate, the untamed desire for something worth living for seeping through her veins, and her eyes opened in time to see the land beneath her break through clouds, and the cries above her. Above, and not far.

The moments that had passed so slowly seemed to rewind and play again in the back of her eyes; Theron's lips near her ear, that eerie feeling of danger that she couldn't shake, the gentle press of his hands against her back that became a rough shove that was only now beginning to die, and his smirk. He wanted her to die, and if she did it would be murder. _If. _So what was it going to be when she lived?

Slowly, a mirror of his own smirk crossed her lips. The visions cleared, the sounds of water crashing on rocks flooding through the whistle of air, and she focused on the hand reaching for her. Without a thought, she reached, and fingers entwined around a thick wrist. Her body continued to fall, a grunt of pain leaving parted lips as her arm took the brunt of her weight, but she had stopped falling.

"Lassie, tha next time ye be wantin' ta jump, let one o' us know, eh?" Winnie grinned down at the hanging woman, her mirth sobering when she saw just how near a miss it had been; Brin's boots were no more than two feet from the shattered rocks beneath her.

"I didn't jump!" Excitement surged through her veins, her voice lifted with the residual swell even though it was easy to hear her. She couldn't help it, her adrenaline pushed to the brink. It was a miracle she hadn't changed in the fall, and she was happy for it. "I was pushed! Winnie, I flew!"

"Have ye gone mad, lass? Tha wasn't flyin', tha was fallin'." The dwarf could barely believe her ears, her words betraying the near helpless worry she had felt just after the strange fear when the hippogryph she had mounted lurched for the edge of the tree and jumped. "Ye didnae even have style to it, ye were jus' fallin'!" The bird-beast released a loud noise, something between the call of a bird and the neigh of a pack-mule, and Winnie hauled on the worgen's arm.

Brinella gripped the decorative saddle, pulling herself up with the dwarf's help. It was far from a graceful mounting, but it was all the beast needed to see. "I didn't jump. Theron pushed me." She didn't bother explaining more than that, knowing it wasn't needed. There was no question of why he had done it, no reason but on behind his logic.

"Hoped ye wouldn't say tha, Brin. Really hoped fer it." The flame haired woman shook her head as the hippogryph landed lightly and sprang back into the air to head once more for the lofty branches it had just tore from. They were silent for the flight, Brinella focused on keeping herself seated in the saddle instead of answering the odd desire for her to fall once more. Her attention turned from the sky to the trees as the beast began to circle, her eyes narrowed at the scene unfolding beneath them.

Lydros stood with his fingers ensnared in the snowy locks of their rogue friend, his other arm over her body to pin one of her arms while his hand held the wrist of her free one, holding back the lethal weapon she held. Ninya's face was flushed, her breathing ragged and eyes wide with something that was akin to the feral anger and insanity she had known when she ran with the pack in Gilneas. Tears streaked through light grime, and Lydros' muscles visibly strained to keep his friend pinned. The subject of her animosity was no better off – Theron was wrapped nearly head to toe in thick vines that pulsed and writhed, like snakes attempting to suffocate their prey.

His face was dark, hair hanging in thick tangles over his face, and yet he glared at the one who held him prone. Brinella had never truly seen a druid angered beyond sensibility, and now that she was faced with one, she wasn't sure how she was supposed to react. The moment the hippogryph touched down, Winnie was off and stomping her way towards the cluster of people, only to have her hair caught up by Lydros at the risk of releasing Ninya's dagger hand. It was a risk that became pointless, Ninya's attention breaking from the would-be murderer to struggle in Lydros' arms, her eyes back at Brin.

Lydros' gaze followed her own, seeming to understand. His release of the slender kaldorei woman lasted only seconds before Ninya collapsed against Brinella, leaving the worgen far more confused than she should have been. "I thought you were gone! I thought... he..." Her fingers came up, sliding through the crop of white hair in a soothing motion, something akin to a laugh summoned deep from her chest. "It's not funny! You could have been killed!"

"Monsters shouldn't live." Theron's words were raspy, spoken between ragged breaths that he was forced to try and take when the vines would release his throat. There was a manic glint in his eyes, one that had only increased the moment he spied Brinella. They diverted from her, glaring insanity at the broad-shouldered druid in front of him, the resemblance uncanny. Theron's father looked every part of a druid of the Claw, scars along every bare part of skin she could see, and his lips curled back the same way a large cat or even bear would do before releasing a warning sound.

When he spoke, it was in a voice of rolling thunder. Quiet, and yet so very much a portent of conflict. His rage was only just kept in check. "You do not play with the lives of others." As his fingers flexed, so did the vines around his son, squeezing air only to relent and allow the boy to breathe. For once, they witnessed fear in the younger elf. "They are not monsters - ..."

"Yes, we are." Brinella spoke before she could think about what she was saying, but the words seemed to spill from her as if a dam had been broken. "All of us are. Every last one of us are monsters, and we'll never be wholly accepted by anyone. It's a curse, and regardless of who brought it down on us or if we even deserved to have such a thing happen, it isn't going to go away." She looked down to Ninya, still clinging to her as if she were the last thing that held her to the earth. "There's a difference between the monster I am, and the one _you_ are."

Theron made a noise, as if trying to negate all that she said, but his father was quicker. "I held on to you, hoping that the boy I called my son would come back. I know now, when you have brought the sky down around my ears, that what I had dreamed of was but a fool's dream." The amber eyes closed, his breath ragged as his fingers flexed and spread, and the vines dropped away to let his son crash to the floor, those around him backing away. "You are dead, and you... shall never walk on the soil of this home of your kin until all those who have witnessed your folly have passed as well. Or I will kill you myself."

The threat rang home, the color gone from Theron's face as he looked to his father. When there was nothing from him, he dared to seek pity from the others, and each of them looked away, all except one. Brinella returned his look, her eyes showing the pity she knew would hit his pride and make him angry, but she felt it anyway. When no one moved, when no one made a sound, he pushed himself to his feet, rubbing the imprints left by his father's attack. Without another word, he turned and made his way to the portal that would take him out of the city.

Behind him, Falshon dropped from the trees to land on one of Theron's father's shoulders, ruffling her snowy wings. Like the others who watched as the young hunter stumbled away, she made no move to follow, every movement of her own seeming to reflect the pain her male perch felt within. As Ninya's tears halted and became nothing more than hiccups, as Lydros and Winnie fell into another of their common arguments, and as Theron's father and his once beloved owl made their way from the group... it began to rain.


	11. Chapter Ten: Dark Shores, Dark Hearts

_**AN: **Erk. Sorry, folks. I didn't mean to have this linger like this for so long, but life kinda ran up and kicked me in the rear. Nevermind that I had a few other projects that needed updating before I could return to this. It's all good. There should be far more of this story coming in the next few weeks._

_Brinella would also like to say that she doubts her skills with the few forms that she has now, and that seeking to learn to fly would be quite silly, as she is a worgen, and we all know worgen do not fly. Unless pushed off trees, apparently._

_

* * *

_

Days passed, and the rain refused to stop. Brinella became used to sloshing through mud and water quickly, taking great strides in her training where it could be afforded. She learned quickly when it was decided she would learn how to bind wounds with cloth instead of nature, but she still left something to be desired when it came to cooking. More than once, the other three would quickly volunteer to do the cooking for the night before letting her near the campfire. She spent the time they cooked doing simple fishing in the ponds and streams that had appeared when the land sundered.

Ninya and Lydros both told her all that they could about the land while they traveled. Even with their great knowledge, Sura's map filled with the new surroundings. More than once, they had followed an old path the two remembered, only to be met with little more than a collapsed mountain, or a new river. It left the two elves with bitter tastes in their mouths, to say the least. As the days progressed, Lydros spent more and more time out scouting, while Ninya brooded.

The ruins of Auberdine had been a brutal slap in the face to the young rogue. She had known people there, more personally than Lydros had. To see nothing more of them, except the bodies of those that did not escape, rent her heart in two. Where she had once been the bright spark of light for the group, it was as if darkness had moved in, and was slowly consuming her. The others hoped it was merely the rain.

A week after leaving the boughs of Teldrassil, Ninya woke to the scent of rain and wet foliage. The trees rustled about their makeshift camp, and she untangled herself from the warmth of the blanket that she and Brinella had curled under, grabbing her blades and moving from the small area. The rain had stopped, but to the slender-framed woman, something else was falling into the woods... a dark, promising voice that called out to her from behind the trees, like a lost friend to another. Without looking back, Ninya slipped between the tall evergreens, and vanished from sight.

* * *

"When did she leave?"

Brinella roused to Lydros' voice, fairly hissed between his teeth. Her eyes opened, squinting against the first clear light she had seen since they had come to the shattered Darkshore. With a grumble, the worgen pulled the blanket back over her head, curling gangly limbs up against her chest. In her mind, she could hear herself call for just five more minutes. It would have to be louder to drown out the rest of the conversation between Winnie and Lydros, who were about as good as keeping quiet in their fights as two seabirds were fighting over food.

"I dunnae know, man! The lassie lives and breathes in the shadows. I though' she simply went off ta fin' ye for some canoodlin' as ye two are prone ta be doin'!"

Winnie's voice was frustrated, but there was something more in it that Brinella's mind caught and wrapped around. Fear. That alone cleared her sleep-fogged mind, her eyes opened as she listened beneath the blanket.

"What we choose to do in our own time is hardly any of your concern, dwarf - ..."

"Dwarf! Ye lon' eared fancy pants! Mah name is Winnie, or Winifred, or Light be damned, ye can call me Flamebraid as the rest o' them do, but don' ye dare be lookin' down yer snout at me as you're doin' right now! If Nin didn't trounce off to get a good roll in tha hay with ye, then ye could say tha' instead o' actin' the ass!"

Lydros sighed, and there was a long pause before he spoke again, his voice trembling with the effort one took to keep their voice level when they were thoroughly upset. "You're right. I'm sorry. No, Ninya did not come to find me. Her tracks go the other way, deeper into the woods. I'm going to find her. You stay with the mutt - ..."

"Mutt! Lad, I care for ye dearly, but ye are a right damned jackass when ye get your knickers in a twist!"

"Stay with Brin - ..."

"Nay! Ye stay with tha lass. Ye were tha one who wanted to keep an eye on her, after all. Ninya will be back, as she always comes back when she wanders."

Lydros growled, his irritation clear. "Not this time, Winnie. No matter how many times she has wandered, she's never left without telling someone about where she is going. There are Twilight camps in these woods, and you've seen how dark Ninya has become these past few days."

"I'm not much o' a woodsman, Lydros." Winnie sighed, the shift of her armor sounding in the camp. "Thin's aren't what they seem here, not anymore. Give it until nigh'fall, lad. Ninya will be back, ye will see."

There was silence, the rustle of movement, and Brinella shot up from the ground as a resounding crash heralded the sound of something large falling to the ground. The blanket fell away from her, and she had to rub her eyes before she fully believed what she saw before her. Lydros lay prone along the ground with Winnie a few steps beyond, her hands on her hips. Beside the night elf was her hammer, glinting in the dawn's light.

"Ah, ye'r awake. Get up then. Lydros fell on his face, as ye can see. Do me a favor while I make breakfast up? Ninya seems to have slipped off in tha night. See if ye can't find her and get her back here?"

Brinella opened her mouth to ask a question, but she clamped her furred maw shut as Winnie's brows drew together in a glare. If there was one thing she didn't want, it was to draw the ire of an already angry woman. She dressed quickly, loping from the camp while settling her pack over her shoulder.

Winnie watched her go, turning her eyes onto Shade, who sat not far from his master with an accusing glare centered on her. "Wha? He tripped!" The dwarven woman trundled forward, taking up her mace and feeling the place her weapon had struck on the back of Lydros' skull when she had thrown it. "On tha other han', ye might wanna go and find a priest. May ha'e hit him – er... I mean, he mighta hit his head harder than I though'."

* * *

She remained out of her favored shift for the time being. The senses of a cat were keen, but she craved the ability to follow a scent that the worgen she had become seemed able to harness so easily. It did not take her long to find the scent of her friend, winding through the trees in so chaotic a manner that Brinella was not certain, for some time, if the rogue had not been fully intoxicated while trying to walk.

The path wove one way, and then another, and sometimes it fell back on itself and chose a completely different way to go. The woman had passed the same growth of briarthorn six times before she finally gave in and plucked it, if only to stop the feeling of helplessness that had begun to gnaw at her gut. It was only as she sat back on her heels and considered her options that she noticed the tree she leaned against smelled just a bit too familiar.

Now she knew why the trail had been so confused. Her eyes roamed upwards, and she saw how, far above her, the closeknit growth had tangled limbs together and created, in some way, a path. It went only one way that she could see from the ground, and after the rains that had been falling for the last week, Brin did not relish the idea of following the path her friend seemed to have taken.

So she followed what she could see on the ground, squirming between undergrowth that seemed determined to strip her of her fur for how it grabbed at her. Around a village of furbolg, past naga-infested ruins, and through another thick batch of trees before the scent picked up near her again, and Brin dropped to all fours as she followed it. Other scents mingled with Ninya's, unfamiliar and … sour? Brin's nose wrinkled with disgust when she crossed the path of these, the very smell making her stomach turn, and her fur stand on end.

Ninya's path melded into these others easily, and her pace became frantic as she followed what had once been a thin strand, and had now coalesced into a thick rope. Terrified of losing sight of what she had followed so closely, Brinella didn't notice that the trees were not so thick around her here, and that the land had become uneven, until she had nearly walked herself off of a cliff.

Below her, scores of people dug at the cliffs, pulling out rocks and piling them into wagons that were manned by even more people. Brinella watched the wagons move out towards the sea, some coming back in to take more of the stone and dirt away. Scaffolding had been erected at key points, including near the worgen herself. Her form shifted, the shadows embracing her as she stalked the clifftop and headed for one of the nearest constructs.

More became visable as she moved; groups of people talking together, more who seemed to be coaching those that dug into the cliffs, and even some who slept. Brinella touched lightly onto the floor, scurrying quickly under one of the wagons as a group of workers made their way up the scaffold she had just descended. Her eyes caught the color of clothing, of purples and blacks and the occasional red hood.

A flash of grey and silver among the milling violet and black caught her attention, and she nearly jumped for joy. Ninya stood in a line with several others, her attention on a large portal that hung in the air. It was flanked by two chanting figures, and Brinella watched with a feeling of growing dread as the first in the line stepped through...

… and vanished. The druid watched the second follow only moments later, and realized that Ninya would be leaving just as easily as they were. Glancing around quickly, the woman scuttled forward on her stomach, relying more on the general noise of the crowd than the shadows for her cover. It worked, allowing her to get within feet of the young rogue before she dared to call to her.

"_Ninya?" _It was like talking to a wall, for all the good it did. Ninya remained oblivious of her, and Brinella tried again as two more stepped into the swirling vortex. Once more, and then again, but the silver haired rogue never once looked away from the portal. Brinella couldn't understand why she was being ignored, except that with each person who stepped into the portal that Ninya was heading for, she felt more and more unease.

Unease that spiked into brutal pain as something large hit her side and sent her sprawling into a group of workers. Brinella groaned, her vision going blurry for scant seconds as whatever hit her loomed over her, and she thought that she was going mad. A huge, lumbering creature that smelled of something worse than death, and looked... Brin was in too much pain to laugh at what the image called up. A squid with legs, and thick tentacles as arms? She didn't know what they were, but she knew that whatever it was, hurt.

She had the briefest view of something behind the strange beast; a construct of immense design that was half-buried in the sand and mud. _That was what they were digging out_, she realized. _Not the sand or even stone. They're digging that... thing up? Why? _The worgen moved as the arm that struck her came down again, a cry going up around the camp as others began to realize her presence. Her side was aflame with pain, but she ducked between the tree-trunk like legs of the thing that had hit her, screaming for Ninya in her mind, and reached only a solid wall of silence more deafening than what had been there moments before. Terrified, Brinella glanced to the line of people that she had seen her friend in.

Ninya was gone.

There was no sign of the rogue, no sign even of the line that she had been standing in. Now it was only the worgen surrounded by miners with picks, and more of those otherworldly beings. The portal had been closed, and while Brinella hoped and prayed that it had been done to free the casters up for attack on her, she knew deep in her heart that it wasn't so. As the group advanced on her, Brinella turned and ran.

Literal fire scorched her fur, twisted magic ate at her, and she was certain she felt the sharp bite of blades on her flanks, lucky strikes that weren't repeated, before she managed to break past a line of gnomish guards and escape onto the beach that they had been lugging the stone and dirt onto. Her paws scrabbled at rocks as she climbed a pile that had been shoring up the water, dropping heavily over the other side.

She didn't look back as she ran, despite the cries that followed her up the beach. Murloc tribes scattered before her, barreled over by a hulking she-bear before she was once more the sleek and quick cat, leaving all behind. She didn't stop running until she could do so for no other reason than because her body had given out on her. The battered feline became the injured worgen, and while she mended the wounds that laced her, she reached for any sign of Ninya over the mental bond that they had developed over the week.

There was nothing. Not even the gentle pulse of life, the thread of light that bound the heart of the rogue to that of the worgen, the same thread that the four friends all shared among each other. It was as if Ninya had never been there, had never _existed._ When Brinella finally made it back to the camp that night, her fur matted with blood and her eyes bloodshot from tears she tried hard to hold back, there was nothing that needed to be said. Lydros, awake and ready to scold the rogue for running off, took one look at Brin's face and turned away, seeming to choke on words before striding out of the camp and into the forest.

Brinella dropped to the bed that she and Ninya had shared only that morning, pulling the blanket up against her bruised muzzle. When the tears finally fell, she felt thick arms wrap around her as Winnie tried to comfort her, before giving in to the sorrow and emptiness she felt as well.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Memories and Mammaries

**AN: **_The Forsaken character that appears in this chapter is fully dedicated to the odd minds of those who post in WCSues. I can think of only one who reads this story with any amount of regularity, and I hope he/she recognizes the character from a conversation that took place on one of the posts there. The idea of this particular Forsaken just about killed me in imagery, and I couldn't help but include him._

_In other randomness, we wander back to our Sin'dorei. A little more of the background of these two is brought to light in narrative, and I'm fairly certain we saw it coming. I can think of nothing else to say. I hope it is enjoyed, and feel free to comment. I love feedback, I really do._

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* * *

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"You said he was in one place. Then he was in another. Now he's somewhere else?" Kalthor groaned, his voice muffled behind a silken cloth as they trudged through the stone-walled corridors of the Undercity. His eyes followed the steel-clad form of his friend as she skipped the bridge that would lead into the inner quarters of the underground city, his face turning a deep shade of green as she simply traipsed through the slick ooze. He couldn't help the thoughts that pushed into his head as she emerged on the far side, the liquid slipping off of the bare curves she sported. "Tr – I'm not walking through that!"

He groaned as she shot back an impish grin, a look that seemed to tell him that it was no skin off her back if he followed her or not. Kalthor was not an idiot. He knew his friend would keep walking, and Light damn him for it all, he'd follow her to the Nether and back if given the chance. "Don't you leave me here, Tria! Tria!" Kalthor looked between the green sludge and the woman who had now vanished around the corner in her haste to get to the upper quarters, where she had heard the one she sought now lingered.

"Fel-damned female..." Kalthor looked at the sludge for a moment more, a resigned sigh passing his lips as he closed his eyes and bravely stepped into the slick and slimy fluid. "Oh... oh this is disgusting. Light, oh!" The warlock tried to hurry, his robes twisting around his feet, and tripping him. With a shocked grunt he fell, the scenery vanishing to be replaced by the acidic green that swarmed around him. He gasped, choked on the sludge, and reached out to find purchase on anything that he possibly could, and grasped something slippery.

A voice sounded above him, something grasping around his other flailing hand. It pulled, despite his great desire not to have anything to do with it, and he found that he could breathe again and took a great breath inward. Dimly, he was aware of laughter, familiar laughter that he hadn't heard in ages. His eyes opened, and he realized who was holding him, her hands gripping his elbows while he quivered there. Triadae laughed, and he wasn't sure if the tears in her eyes were worry or relief, or simply because the situation was just too amusing in her mind to risk laughing like her sanity had left her.

"You don't have to laugh." Kalthor pouted, his voice wounded as he began picking up the shredded bits of his dignity that seemed to line the pavement around them. He marveled at the way the liquid he had just been drowning in no more than a few moments ago was sliding away from his clothes, leaving them dry. Reluctantly, he let go of his friend, his fingers stealing a graze of her skin as he drew away, standing and brushing the expensive fabric down as she continued to laugh.

She was beautiful. Kalthor had never doubted that particular fact in all of the time that they had known each other, but with the absence of her laughter, he seemed to have forgotten how she looked when her walls were down. Before everything had happened. It had been so long, that he was certain her eyes should have been blue when they opened and looked up to him. They weren't. They never would be again, and he knew this for the fact that it was, but it never ceased to make his heart endure pain as if he were having it torn from him.

Triadae was his dearest friend, the one who knew all of his secrets. All except one, or maybe the one she refused to believe. He loved her more than he loved his power, more than he loved his looks or his mind. All the things he valued were the things he'd give up in a moment just to spend one night with her as more than a friend. Anyone else would have been burned, cursed, and set upon by a demon if they dared laugh at him, but her...

He watched as she pushed herself to her feet, still wiping tears from her eyes as she shook her head. That little moment, that smile that wasn't a tease or a look of disapproval was set into his mind, permanently ingrained in his memory as easily as if someone had taken a picture with one of those strange gnome contraptions and given it to him. He framed it, set it beside the images from so long ago. Images of her in a white dress, images of her with flowers in her hair, and even one where she sat beside a window and watched the rain beat at the glass, matching the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

Pictures and images he could share with none, not even the woman he loved so dearly. Words that were needed to describe such things didn't come easily to him. It was easier to hide behind a wall of indifference, as much a weapon to deal with her and other as it was to defend himself against her. Kalthor chuckled, opened his mouth to tell her something, and realized that she had already walked off again. He caught the flick of her oddly cut hair vanishing around the corner, and sighed.

* * *

The upper floors of the Undercity still didn't hold the store of the one she searched for. Triadae asked around for another few hours before she caught color from the corner of her eyes, her steps pausing as she adjusted to the gloom she had seen them from. A flash of white, pale skin against the blackness, and red fabric. She ignored the questioning noise from Kalthor, shaking her head quickly as they continued on to the elevators. The color flickered here and there in her sight, a ghost of color that wasn't present if she looked fully, but was slowly guiding her.

Triadae hated feeling like she was being led along, and hated herself more for following without question. Instinct told her that she'd find what she sought if she just kept following, but it didn't ease her in the least. They entered the elevator, and she heard laughter, familiar and dark, and the flashes of color became something more than that. Triadae's lips curled in a snarl as the elevator lifted, and she swore she could feel fingers brush against her face.

Freedom came, and the newly formed figure stepped lightly from the lift, crooking fingers back at her. She glanced at Kalthor and saw that he was waiting for her. He simply thought she knew where she was going. This disturbed her further, and she moved swiftly to follow the ghostly figure as it wound past pillars and through doors until they broke free of stone and dirt into a courtyard.

The voice called to her, a darkly haunting voice laced with rich promise and reward. She knew the voice, knew it as easily as she had known her own, and her hand lifted to grab her sword-hilt as she took off after it. The colors of the courtyard paled and changed, spires turning into snow-capped mountains and lethal gates that twisted and brought fear, but she paid attention to nothing more than the figure that laughed at her, red hair whipping behind it as it ran.

"_You'll never get rid of me, Triadae!" _The voice pulled at her, mocking her as it drove deep pain into her mind and body. As if swords had cut at her flesh, and Triadae stumbled and gasped with the sensation. Her hand pressed to her side, saw blood that glimmered and faded as if washed away by the ebb and flow of a tide that no longer existed. _"Never, ever!" _They voice laughed, the sound echoing around her, and Triadae roared in defiance.

"_Come. Chase me down and do your worst. It was nothing compared to what I did to you, isn't that right? Hurt me again, Tria. It felt so good. So very, very good." _The scenery warped again as she ran, the mountains superimposed over the ruins of the once great Lordaeron. Triadae spotted that flash of color slip past a grave and followed, her steps coming quicker and quicker until she was doing nothing more than running as fast as her body would allow, and finally she was catching up to the figure. Finally, some ground gained!

Around another corner, and Triadae nearly hit a wall trying to turn into the narrow alley, and nearly hit another before she was brought up sharp by what stood in front of her. The walls of Lordaeron were gone, nothing more than gates and spires once more, prisons pulled from a cold, nightmarish world, and she stopped, her breathing ragged. Emerald eyes all but glared at the woman that stared right back at her, a sneer curling perfect lips painted red amidst a ghost-white face. Red hair swirled around the figure, brushing against black robes. _"Go ahead. Hurt me again. I long for it..." _

The figure made no move to avoid Triadae's attack, simply rolling her head back and assuming a look of bliss that the warrior had never before seen. It shook her to her core, and her fingers tightened around the delicate neck as her victim continued to moan. _"The look I wore when it all happened, Tria. The look you'll never wear. These sounds? I made them, too. Come on, hurt me more. Be a big girl. Beat me. Break me. You know you want to. Or are you a coward?" _

"Shut up. Shut up!" Tria's voice lifted into a scream from the low growl it had been, her eyes stinging with tears as she gripped harder, pushed the now laughing woman back against a wall, determined to squeeze ever last breath from her even if it killed her. Pain flashed across her face, her head turning away when something struck at her eyes, and she pulled her hand back only to slam the moaning woman back against the wall again. "Stop laughing! Stop!"

* * *

"Tria!" Kalthor had only turned the corner when he saw her, and who she was attacking. The tiny Forsaken squirmed in the warrior's grip, its robes billowing as he flailed and blindly scratched at Triadae. "Tria!" He ran to her, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her from the thing that she was slowly killing, but her grip was like steel and impossible to remove.

"Counter. Central shelf. Get the syringe!" The Forsaken pointed to an alcove to the side, where an arch led into a small room. Kalthor dropped his bags, vaulting the counter inside and searching for the item. Only one could be considered a syringe, filled with a viscous looking liquid with flecks of fel green inside of it. Without pause he left the shop, slipping behind his friend and jabbing the needle into her skin.

The effect was almost immediate, his arm wrapping around to catch her as her legs gave out. The Forsaken dropped, rubbing his mangled throat with thin and brittle looking fingers. "Thank you," it rasped, looking more to the woman that had been mere moments from snapping its neck than the man who had rescued him. "Funny, I couldn't think of what I had done to make her so angry with me. I had only said hello."

"She's not normally like this. Not to strangers, at least." Kalthor was sitting, his fingers stroking through Tria's hair as she lay in his lap. Her eyes were dull and unfocused, staring past him and up into a sky full of clouds. It worried him greatly, but he focused more on the Forsaken as it laughed. Now that his mind cleared, he could tell that the Forsaken was male. Or so he thought, until it bent down to inspect Triadae, and he was greeted by nothing less than a view of perfectly fleshed cleavage.

"We're not strangers. She'll be up in a few moments, yes. Bring her inside where it is warm." Kalthor watched the Forsaken walk into the store, the sound of clinking glass audible over his groans as he moved, hooking an arm around his friend and beneath her arms. A flash of an idea came to him, an impish grin flitting across his lips as his hand curled around one steel covered breast.

He truly wasn't surprised when he felt the elbow that jammed into his side. His grunt was echoed by her, but he released her to stumble away. "You're welcome." Distantly, he heard her snicker, or thought he did. He remained outside while she entered the small store, and followed only when he could stand again. The mild sting that radiated up his side was completely worth the few moments of bliss. He wouldn't tell her that, though.

"It's good to see you up and around. I always told you not to wander through that slime. You never know what is in there. Well, maybe you do, but it's still never a good idea to go wandering through that." Kalthor could hear the two talking, or at least the strangely loud voice of the Forsaken, and Triadae's mumbled replies. He stepped into the store after fetching his bags, leaning back against the wall. Listening was more than enough for him right now.

"Kalthor walked through it as well. As you can see, he's relatively unaffected." Kalthor chuckled at the phrasing. He hadn't walked through it, far from it in fact. He'd have said he'd all but drunk the well dry.

"Ah, but you were affected by that hallucinations brought on by it, far more than anyone I've ever seen. Interesting, interesting. Very lucky that I had that syringe made, don't you think? Even more interesting that you came here for it." The Forsaken eyed the woman a moment before speaking again. "Who were you confusing me for, I wonder?"

Triadae frowned. She was facing away from him, but Kalthor knew that she did so by the way her ears moved, and how her shoulders seemed to sag. The warlock knew the answer before she even spoke it, and her ice-like tone made him wince as it was confirmed. "My sister. You weren't wondering it either, you bag of bones. You already knew."

Yes, her sister. Kalthor let his head drop back against the shelves, his eyes closing. Miralai was the only person, living or dead, that could have made the stoic warrior go from calm to enraged in mere moments. It was Miralai who had destroyed the woman so completely. It was Miralai who had taken the Light from Triadae, and had plunged her into a darkness that none seemed capable of retrieving her from. Miralai, who had taken her sister's smile.

Tria had been just shy of adulthood when Miralai had begun causing trouble. At first it was simple things; petty theft and late nights out. Bending and warping the arcana her family was known to weave so naturally. When Triadae had entered the Priesthood, Mira's acting out only got worse, until there was nothing left for her to do but leave the family that no longer wanted her. When the Battle of Hyjal called for them to band together, Kalthor stood proudly with Triadae and her father, but Mira was nowhere to be found.

When she did turn up again, it was after Triadae had become a Blood Knight. Mira claimed to have renounced her unsavory ways, and entered into the Knighthood alongside her sister. It was Kalthor's deepest regret, that he had chosen to leave his dearest friend in her moment of need, but he had been in so much pain. His heart had grieved, and he fled to be rid of things he should not have felt to a woman who was falling in love, and he had been a coward to not confess everything then. He should have listened to her, should have listened when she said he might not like the things he'd come back to, but if either of them knew what Mira had been planning... -

"What about you, pretty boy?" Kalthor's eyes flashed open, and he backed up quickly with a look of curious-driven disgust on his face. "Do you like them? Nice, aren't they? Touch them! Go on, they won't bite!" The Forsaken held his robes open, dimly glowing golden eyes radiating some strange sort of perverted leer as he thrust his chest out at the warlock who could not possibly have looked like he wanted to bolt any more than he did right then.

Kalthor had not seen wrong, the first time. Judging by Tria's look of carefully hidden amusement, she knew all too well about this man's... problem? No, it couldn't have been a problem. There really was nothing wrong with breasts, they were just pasted onto the wrong body. Or in this case, sewn. His mind reeled as he tried to think of something to say while the milky skin of the breasts that had been attached, albeit quite nicely, to the rotting chest of the Forsaken were exposed to his view. "I... couldn't? They... they aren't mine!"

"Aren't mine, either! Got 'em off a nice human girl who didn't need them after they ran all those nasty experiments." The Forsaken cackled madly, grabbing one of Kalthor's wrists and dragging it until his palm pressed against one fleshy mound. "You like them, yes? Rather proud, myself. Go ahead, give 'em a good feel. Funny story about why I have these." The man seemed to think a moment about that, scratching his face for so long that it gouged and flaked slightly beneath his finger. "Actually, not really that funny. I just remember likin' them a lot when I was living, so I thought to myself," he puffed out his chest, both hands on his hips, "I thought to myself, 'Richard, assumin' that's really yours and mines name, why don't you set out and find a nice set of those things you liked to grab so much when you were livin'?'"

"So I tried. You know, the new body really doesn't do it for most women," Richard grabbed Kalthor's other hand, placing it on the other breast and 'helping' the dumbstruck man knead the rather healthy flesh, "they see the bones and the ragged hair and the like, and they take off screamin' the other way. And then I was talkin' to old Margerie, and I was starin' at her chest, and she said 'You like them, Richard? They're real! Not mine, but real!' So I got to thinking... if she could do it, why couldn't I? It wasn't like I could just walk over to Marge's everyday and ask to see her girls, if you know what I mean."

"That started the work. The first few pairs I got didn't last long. Rotted pretty fast, but as I – No, don't stop. Really, you can touch all you like! - started thinking more about it, I stopped focusing on all of my work making a new plague, and tried to formulate a way to make the breasts I gathered last longer. Safe to say the Apothecary Society didn't much appreciate that. Said I was gone daft and bonkers, and I was sent out." Richard grinned a little grin, leaning close enough that Kalthor had to force himself not to retch at the man's vile halitosis. "But I got it right, eventually. Just have to pat down the girls with a bit of elixir every mornin', and they stay nice and perky for me all day. I can have a good handful any time I want."

"I'm... impressed," Kalthor managed to wheeze the words, pulling his hands away with seeming reluctance, which pleased their host all the more. He was sure the Forsaken would split his jaw with the grin he sported. "I'm sure you have firmly set the new path for all people who are collectors of fine... ah... girls." Kalthor's eyes shot to Triadae, and narrowed in a manner that spoke quite clearly of his intent to pay her back tenfold for this mockery.

The woman clung to the counter, her body quivering with suppressed laughter until she could hold it no more, and she spoke in a rush that made her condition all too clear. "Richard, I need potions. Lots of them, the best you have, and a little of everything else." She couldn't look her friend in the eye, caught between finding his scarlet blush intolerably cute, and his glare darkly promising.

Richard looked back at her, closing his robes, much to the relief of the still-cornered warlock. "Ooooh, traveling again, Miss Gildedsun?" He fairly beamed as he scooted around the shop, placing a small box of healing potions and elixirs on the counter before traipsing into what could only be described as a back room filled with softly glowing vials and bubbling cauldrons. "I've got a few new items you might be well interested in! As usual, you've only got to fetch me a special item, and all of what you can carry is of no cost to you."

"What will it be this time, Richard?" Triadae's head tilted. "The hair of an orphan mugwump? The eye of a murloc? The liver of a goretusk? I was long out of all of your potions before I managed those items, you silly man." She leaned on the counter, looking almost bored.

"Not this time, Triadae. Not this time." Richard appeared again, his arms full of so many countless items that Kalthor had no hope of cataloging what he did or did not recognize therein. "No, this time, I need a few things quite difficult to obtain. The slime of a corrupted ooze, the husk of a silithid, a vial of water from the halls of Maraudon, the blood of an adult virgin, the claw of a incendesaur, and..." The man's grin seemed ready to split his skull again, "a scale from each of the leaders of the flights."

"Flights? Are you mad?" Kalthor gaped at the Forsaken, his eyes about ready to burst from his sockets. "There's no way that any of us would hope to gather such an it - ..."

"We'll get all of that while we're out, Richard. You have my word, as always." Triadae felt the warm smile of Richard as much as she felt the incessant burning gaze that was boring holes into the back of her head from her friend. She watched the Forsaken pack the vials and pots and elixirs away without a word, the small satchel handed over to her with a pat on her hand.

"I believe you. The white liquid is something special for you. It will... help, if you think you really need it. Don't let her consume you, Triadae. To be mad is the worst anyone could have happen to them. It is only a step from genius to insanity. I should know. I walk all over the line that divides the two." Richard grinned, his golden eyes flaring. "Now go. If you happen to see a nice pair of breasts just laying around... grab them for me as well?"

"Of course." Tria nodded, tying the magic bag to her belt and turning on her heel, ignoring the glare from Kalthor. "Be well, my friend."

"All the things you will need are in the bag! Be safe, as much as you can be on the road you now walk!" His eyes went to Kalthor, who looked about to speak until the Forsaken offered a saucy wink. "And for you, my friend... you can get a good look any time you like." He was not surprised as the warlock fled the shop, his raspy laughter following the two as they made their way out of the courtyard.

"You're insane. A scale from each leader of the Flights? He was talking about dragons, was he not? I can't bear to have hope that he meant ducks, or wolpertingers, or anything else that won't sooner gouge out our spleens than give us a piece of them." Kalthor followed quickly behind Tria, coming to stand beside her as they walked.

"Of course he meant dragons. Richard might be losing his mind, might be becoming a little more than just mostly mad, but he's a brilliant scientist and alchemist. Dragons are supposed to be incredibly powerful creatures. I knew he'd ask for the impossible some day. All of those items... some of them don't exist or are difficult to obtain." She paused, realizing just how much of a plea for reason there was in her voice. She sighed, shaking her head. "He doesn't want me here when he loses it. He wants me to remember him like this, breasts and all."

They walked in silence for a long time, and were nearly to the zepplin when Kalthor spoke up. "You know, one of those items will be really easy." He looked to his friend, a grin sliding across his lips. "An adult virgin? He should have taken your blood while we were in the sho – OW!"

Triadae left Kalthor behind as she stalked up the steps, her fists clenched at her sides. Hitting him was almost therapeutic. Kalthor simply grinned, rubbing his arm and knowing that he would be sporting an excellent bruise in a few hours, but he was pleased to have caught the blush across her cheeks before she left his side. That image, of her green eyes flashing with both surprise and anger, and the way her lips parted just before pulling in a grimace... that image was placed beside all the others in his mind. The pain would fade in time... but they never would. He liked it that way.


	13. Chapter Twelve: The Wrong Name

The content of this isn't explicit, nothing I wouldn't show my teenage friends, hence it retaining a T rating. A wonderful lesson in why we don't drink, though.

Poor Kal.

* * *

The journey to the city of Orgrimmar was, for the most part, completely uneventful. If one wasn't riding the zepplin, at least. Those who _were_ riding the goblin-run transport were treated to the amusements brought on by a frantic Kalthor and a horrifically plastered Triadae. Kalthor had never before traveled with his friend outside of meager horses and trans-location orbs, and he was more than a little surprised to find out that Triadae had the ability to look as beautiful sober as she did a delicate shade of green, half her lithe body held out over the edge of the zepplin, surprising people below them with the contents of her stomach.

Most of which happened to be incredibly strong alcohol. It had only taken her until the first night to join in on the drinking with the others who had boarded outside Undercity, desperate to stop the feeling of being sick. Instead, she had replaced it with completely drowning herself in rum and brandy, doing everything short of stripping herself bare under the influence. Not that it took much. By the third shot of rum, she was already drunkenly smiling at others. By the time the first bottle had gone, she was leaning on strangers as if they were long lost friends.

It was amusing, in some small way, for Kalthor to watch this. Her smiles at this point were not the same that he captured in his mind and remembered at all times, but they were still notable. He was certain that a woman who had spent most of her time attempting to be one of the boys would have become immune to the effects of the drink, but it seemed that this was just one of many things that she had never indulged herself in. Two, and then three, weeks passed in the air, and his worry changed from her being able to eat anything from her constant sickness to her being able to survive pickling her innards with how much she consumed. No matter what, neither option kept her away from the railing of the zepplin.

There was more than just her air-sickness that kept her there in the early days. More than once, Kalthor had woken to find her hammock empty and had made his way to the deck of the zepplin only to see here at the prow, her hand wrapped around one of the rigging lines while her eyes stared out at the moons that rose over the land, and then the sea. He had seen that look before, years ago. It worried him, to see her like he was now seeing her. Whatever the liquid sludge had stirred in her mind, it had brought back demons that he was so sure that she had vanquished long ago.

For a time, he considered sending word to Tiroth. He knew that doing such a thing would only make Triadae angry at him beyond words if she were to catch him, but it was these moments where he was willing to risk her wrath. It was Tiroth himself who had sent Triadae into her first spiraling depression, after all. Granted, he had never been able to pull her from it, but that didn't stop the warlock from believing that maybe, the Blood Knight could be the one to break their friend from the cage she seemed to have locked herself in.

These moments, where he felt utterly powerless, were the ones he hated most. The moments where his friend seemed caught in the past, and her distant eyes were unseeing to the pain right in front of her. Numerous times, countless by now, he had touched her shoulder and guided her hungover body back to her hammock, where he had watched her until they both drifted into fitful sleep. Sometimes, he would hear her speak in her sleep. Names, whimpered under her breath as she moved as if being tortured, and by the candlelight that they had their cabin room lit by, he could see the trails of tears.

Never did he mention these things to her. When she woke, she would seek out the nearest drink once more, and he would simply hope that everything would be alright. A foolish thought, he knew. Nothing had ever been right since the Prince had fallen, and since he had come home to a woman he barely recognized. There was nothing he regretted more than leaving her as he had. He should have stayed, should have stubbornly stood by his words of love, and even if she would not be with him, should have prevented the events that would leave her like this.

Kalthor knew that there was no use in blaming himself for what had happened. Truly, he could not blame Tiroth, either. The noble Blood Knight had fallen under the worst of spells, caught in the web of one who was used to getting what she wanted more than anything. No, the one who had started everything, had ruined everything, and who had left nothing but pain behind, was dead. Even that event, Kalthor could not understand.

The world had seemed to forget Miralai, as easily as if she had never existed. No, that was not completely true. To those affected, Miralai was alive, and it was her who lingered around the once proud Triadae. Kalthor knew, deep down, that no matter how his rejection at the hands of Tria hurt, no matter how he longed to be hers in all aspects, it was nothing compared to the pain that his friend felt and had to remember. How much it had hurt him, to see her weep after seeing the little girl named after her sister. The little girl that should have been hers, with Tiroth.

So he let her stare into the horizon, hoping that maybe, what she saw there would help her heal. So he let her drink, hoping that maybe, the nightmares that she had could be sweated from her like the liquor she consumed. So he let her go, hoping that maybe, she'd come back to him and open her heart as he so desperately wanted her to. So he let her live, knowing that it would bring nothing but hurt and pain down on his head.

That was, he thought, the purpose of being a friend. To stand by the ones you cared about through the thick and the thin. Those who knew the altercations between them would think that she was a selfish woman, to constantly rely on her friend and give nothing at all in return. Perhaps it was Kalthor who seemed the strongest, but he knew that he was just as weak. Triadae sated his thistle addiction without question, and turned the other way when that simply wasn't enough, and he had to drain demons or lose his mind.

She had cared for him when he was sick, when his withdrawals from the arcane were nearly too much to bear. Triadae had been the one he pulled magic from when he needed it, in those brief moments before Kael'thas had opened them to the demons. Months that seemed like long years to him, when he remembered the pain. When he remembered how close he had come to being the very thing that he and Triadae had been forced to kill so many, many times. She had never spoken a word of ill as they had scoured Outland, putting to death those who had fallen too far. Had never rubbed his nose in the fact that they were killing what he had narrowly become. She knew it could have been her. Just as easily, it could have been her.

Another week passed, a storm blowing them off of their course, and Triadae spent the time in bed with a fever that had appeared at random while the goblins argued and threatened explosions on each other until a well-meaning orc found that holding the Captain over the railing was a damned fair way of getting something done on the zepplin. They docked in the middle of the night, and Kalthor had the luck of a passing shaman taking pity on him while he fumbled with all of their things, and the semi-unconscious form of his friend, escorting him to an inn where he could get Triadae into a proper bed.

That had lasted all of three days, when he came back to find her working on a lovely tab with a new group of shady individuals. The resulting argument cost him most of the gold that he still had on his person, having utterly demolished the collection of spirits, six tables, and thirteen chairs. Unwelcome in the Valley of Strength, they had moved to the inn located in the Valley of Honor, where the trouble only seemed to compound itself. Triadae was prone to challenging people well past her own skill in drunken battles, and it was in the middle of one of these that Kalthor finally snapped.

He ignored her angry yelling when he grabbed her arm, twisting it until she dropped her sword, and hauled her off and into their room. By the time they reached it, they already had a crowd forming, most of the spectators amused to see how such a tame looking man could handle what was little more than a spitting hellcat as if she was a mere doll. Her slightly tipsy opponent was given enough time to hand over her discarded weapon before the door slammed in his face, and the only sound was Kalthor's heavy breathing, and the dark sound that was akin to a growl that was rumbling through Tria's body.

"I'm not going to watch this anymore, Triadae." His hands were braced on the door frame, his forehead pressed against the thick wood as he caught his breath. "You can drink all you want, but nothing is going to change what has happened and is happening. How long do you think I'm going to be here, standing by while you bring about an early death? How long am I _supposed_ to watch you do this to yourself?" The sound of his head striking the wood, just once, sounded before he sighed, one hand lifting up to grip in his blonde mane.

"I want you to open up to me, but all it seems like you want to do is just shut down. Am I not enough for you anymore, Tria? All those times we used to confide in one another, do they mean nothing to you now?" He heard her moving, but he dared not turn to view her, afraid that if he did, he'd lose control and be little more than a monster. "I left you for power, and because I was a coward. I came back to find you a step away from something incredibly stupid, and now you're making me watch it all over again."

"Miralai is dead, Tria." The floodgates had opened, and he was unable to stop the words he spoke. "She took everything from you, gained all that you wanted, but she's dead now. She's dead and she isn't going to come back. I want you to stop the drinking, to stop staring off like you're seeing something else, and to look at what you're doing to Tiroth and Hana. What you're doing to me. Why can't you do that, instead of acting like the world will be saved if you have just one more drink? Nothing is going to fall back into place!" His fists crashed against the door frame, his eyes closing as he fought to regain some measure of calm.

"Look at me..."

He heard her voice, quiet and almost soothing, and felt her hand reach to touch him on the shoulder. So he looked, heaving a sigh and turning around slowly only to wish he hadn't, barely able to keep his jaw from slamming to the floor. "Tria..." His heart lurched as she moved closer, pulling the bed sheet tighter around her so that it hugged her in all the right places, and he found himself with his back against the door.

"Am I pretty? Do you think I am, even looking like this?"

Her hand lifted, brushing against his lips, and it took everything he had not to kiss the pads of her fingers as they skated over his skin. Light help him, she had unbound her hair, and a quick glance told him that there was nothing beneath that sheet, all of her armor piled next to her bed, glinting in the firelight. Summoning every last speck of willpower he owned, his hand gripped her own, taking it away from his face. "That's a silly question. That's like asking if the sky is blu – mmph!"

Kalthor blinked in surprise, his eyes crossed and looking down at his friend who had moved with far more speed than he believed she owned when intoxicated as she was. Her own eyes had closed, and her lips had pressed to his own in what could have been considered a chaste kiss between friends. Lips closed, distance between their bodies, and even that was melting away as her fingers untangled from his hand and lifted to slip behind his neck.

Every bone in his body screamed for him to push her away. She was drunk, and this was taking advantage... but he had waited so long. So long to have her this close, this bare, this wanting. Anyone could have forgiven him for his lapse, for deepening the kiss when her lips parted, for sliding his hands up her sides and runching the fabric that kept her skin from his own, and finally breaking down, seizing her hips and backing her towards the bed until she was forced to fall back, her hands going to either side of her head, curling in the crimson locks.

Something screamed at him to take his time, but he was far too gone for that. Oh, he had seen her nude before when she bathed, when she teased him with what he couldn't have... but now he could. A finger hooked under the sheet, tugging it until he could peel one side away, so half her body was exposed to him. Like a starved man, he drank in the sight, running fingers from one shapely thigh, all the way up her side, and teasingly drifting over the single breast as she shivered under his touch. Oh, how she shivered.

He watched her lay there, a hazy sort of uncertainty in her eyes. She was watching him, almost seeming to dare him to stop right now, and knowing he had no intentions of doing so. No, he knew that if he stopped right now, she'd torment him with tastes once more, never letting him have all of what he wanted. His hand slid between her breasts, amused at how so simple a motion made her arch under his touch, and he flicked away the other half of the sheet, baring her completely.

He allowed her the moment to gain a modest blush across her cheeks, a finger caught between her teeth in a shy display that he had never seen from her, and was doing far more to him than anything else, before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck, parting them enough to nip at the tender flesh while his hands roamed and touched, gently groping her breasts and kneading the supple flesh just to hear her gasp and coo beneath him.

Somewhere, his shirt seemed to have come off of him, and he was making more than quick work of removing his pants while slowly kissing his way down her neck, along her collar, and finally to her breasts. He toyed with the sensitive area, relishing her whimpers as his teeth nipped the unmarred skin and lips surrounded the erect nipples to lathe his tongue over them. He adored the way her shyness melted from her, feeling her fingers tangle in his hair as he situated himself just so, barely restraining himself from simply engaging the act and satisfying every last desire he had.

So he waited. He teased and tempted, made her go through every noise from a low purr to a loud moan and back again before he even dared touch his skin against hers. "Tria..." His voice was rough with something that could have been called emotion, the gaze he leveled on her filled with love far more than the heady lust that was now apparent between them. Kalthor groaned as he let his manhood rest against her mons, leaning over her just enough to steal another kiss, scorching and filled with all the passion he could have possibly mustered at that moment. "I love you, my beautiful Triadae."

She arched under him, her lips pulled in a sweetly simple smile as one leg curled up and over his own, almost seeming to pull him closer and clearly wanting with how her hips moved. He bathed in that smile, waited for her response, and his heart flew as she spoke. "I love you, as well..." Something flickered in her eyes, and she drew him close for another kiss, brief and yet so very loving, and he listened closely as she breathed her words on his lips. "Be gentle with me, my beloved Tiroth..."

The fire died and left him cold, his heart pounding as if wanting to escape his chest and flee to the darkest corners of the Twisting Nether. No amount of cold water could have turned him as small as he now felt, and he bravely managed a smile as he nuzzled his nose with hers, suddenly feeling more dirty than ever before. "I'll be very gentle..." He scrambled for something that would make this right, even as he knew she waited for him – No... she waited for someone else. "... I just need to get something that will make this easier for you. Wait for me, Triadae."

Slowly, he pulled himself away from her, grabbing a robe he had thrown carelessly over the back of a chair and putting it on before making his way to the door. He had expected some sort of resistance, something that made it feel like she really had just made a mistake, but when he looked back, he was more than a little hurt to see that she had fallen asleep in those scant few moments, her bare chest rising and falling evenly with her slumbering breaths. Kalthor shook his head, making his way out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

The barkeep was a little more than surprised to see him come to him, but was even more surprised when the warlock ordered the hardest drink in the house. The blonde stayed in the main hall of the inn the entire night, working a bottle of rum that had knocked down bulls three times his size. When the sun finally rose, not even the innkeeper questioned his request of a different room, and Kalthor vanished to sleep with the bottle of rum, nursing a heavy headache and a broken heart.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Bad Feelings

Kalthor woke with a headache that would have floored even the most stout of dwarven drinkers. If, he thought, dwarves could even get drunk. The blonde grumbled all through getting dressed, stumbling twice into furniture that he cursed with the vehemence better saved and served by criminals and sailors. It was only when he pulled himself from the bathing room that he realized he wasn't entirely alone.

It was a strange feeling, a tickle in the back of his mind that was lingering beneath the lovely headache he had cultivated. He knew the feeling, like a bond that was being tugged to alert him to danger or worse. It was enough to give him pause, to make him grip the frame of the door to focus his thoughts as much as keep himself upright. "Xaydia..." There was a laugh, a pulse as a shard within his pouch fractured and the soul within escaped and tempted the demon he called for.

She came, as he knew she would. Xaydia could no more ignore him than he could ignore Triadae, and for the exact same reasons. He felt her hands wrap about his chest, the tight-fitting bodice she wore pressing roughly into his back as she nipped at his clothed body. "You so very rarely call for me. I half expected you to do so last night, when your lusts ran high..." That silken purr wrapped around his mind, pulling at him in the same way a lover might pull him closer.

"Stop that." He could feel her sigh, could almost see the pout and defiant flash of her blue-limned eyes before she pulled away. "What I do outside of the Twisting Nether is none of your concern, and what happened last night is to be forgotten and never spoken about again. Under pain of worse than death, Xaydia... I assure you, I am not tempting you with freedom."

The succubus dipped below his arm, her hooves tapping lightly on the stone floor beneath them while her fingers ran over the disheveled bed. "Yes, Master." There was disappointment in her voice, as easily read as her body language; the way she sat on the bed, coyly watching him from beneath thick ebony lashes. "If it was not to discuss the lack of your sexual experiences, for what reason did you call me?" Her eyes went to her nails, turning her hand this way and that while she examined them.

"Someone who consumes too much energy, your energy..." He staggered to a chair, seating himself in an attempt to make the world stop spinning for just a moment. His hands covered his eyes, fingertips rubbing at his hairline while he spoke. "Is it possible for someone to become a demon on that magic? Is it possible for someone to corrupt themselves past the point of humanity, and become something else entirely?"

Xaydia remained silent for a long time, her attention divided between playing at not listening, and flicking her eyes to the man who spoke. "Fel magic was brought to this planet by the Legion. It is, as you already know, arcane at the most corrupt stage. Which is why you yourself struggle to bring it under control. Your heritage claims the arcane and the power, but your choices have turned it corrupt. Choices like draining the demons as the others did.

Several of those you call demons were not demons previously. They were mortal races, like your own, changed and altered in exchange for power and glory. One who consumed enough of this energy, or was around those who did so, may also take on the demonic qualities. It would take a great deal of demon blood..."

"How much?" Kalthor's voice had gone hoarse, his hands shaking. "How much would be needed to make someone into something like that, and is it possible to change that once it is complete?"

The succubus seemed to think for a time, her shoulders finally lifting and falling in a slight shrug. A sexual creature to the bone, Xaydia had little understanding of the sentimental and emotional outside of lust. Yet her time with the warlock had given her an insight she would have generally lacked had she simply been one of the others. "It's a soul and body corrupting substance. Those who cast magic, arcane at least, age faster and risk calling attention to themselves by those who can feel the ripples made by a strong casting.

A week of staying away from demon blood could give the one who consumed a chance, if they are not already turned. If they are already corrupt to the point where they are changed..."

"She summoned incubi. Demons who have had their summoning rituals forgotten by even the most powerful of people. I don't know what else I expected from those portals, but even a Nathreziem wouldn't have surprised me nearly as much. How much power would one have to have in order to do such a thing? To wrench males from only Light knows where to bring them here?"

His vehemence startled her, violet tinged wings flaring behind her for a moment before she settled. "It would have been a vast amount of power. Enough for her to catch the attention of someone, and not someone she would want the attention of." Xaydia stood, closing the distance between them, her fingers reaching to brush through golden hair, only to stop. Her Master was a mess of emotions. Rage and anger, grief and sorrow, hate and guilt. Things she had never felt from him before washed over her like a torrent of rain, nearly knocking her back with the force. Amidst it all, she felt that same line that was being tugged, that same bond.

"Find her." Kalthor's voice was choked, and his fingers gripped his hair as if ready to pull it from his very head. "I did not save her from becoming Felblood to have her give in to the Legion, or anyone else. Find her, drag her from the hell she is caught in, and bring her to me. By _any_ means necessary."

She watched for a moment, uncertainty clouding her mind. Just when it looked as if he might lash out at her for stalling, just as she felt his arcana begin to boil, she vanished from his sight and fled through the Twisting Nether, using only the distant bond between one and the other as her guide.

* * *

"I'm sorry, friend. None you describe have come anywhere near this portal." The broad shouldered druid released a sound that was quite bullish, but Kalthor wasn't about to mock the full-grown Tauren before him. "There is, if one chooses to travel it, still the path through the elven lands. If the one you seek did not come here, perhaps they decided to tread that instead."

The warlock cast his gaze to the sky, where the sun had already risen to the half-way point. In another hour, it would begin the descent, it would grow dark, and Kalthor was not a tracker by any stretch of the word. Triadae had more than enough time on him to be far gone. "The elven lands. Is the path to them from the side of this city still intact?"

"Of course. There has been little reason to close off a trade route, or so the newly acquired..." The bull grimaced as a green-skinned humanoid the size of a gnome blew by on a machine that left Kalthor coughing and hacking. "... If your compatriot left for Hyjal as you believe, I've doubts that they would have left by way of the front gate, or the gate that now leads into Azshara. Beware, the land has changed drastically. You'd be best served with a guide."

Kalthor recovered from his coughing fit in time to be beset by another one, the same goblin laughing and cackling madly as she raced by. When the warlock seemed able to breathe again, the rumble of the engine could be heard over the commotion. A slender finger was held to the Tauren in a request to wait, and as the goblin raced by once more, she was knocked from the machine. The trike went wild, crashing into a tent and tearing it apart. While others scrambled to control the runaway vehicle, Kalthor reached and grabbed the small woman by one skull-decorated pigtail, ignoring her screams of protest.

"The west gate, then. My thanks for your help. Winds be at your back, and other such nature-related nonsense." With his grip tightening, the man stalked off, dragging the insult spewing humanoid along behind him. "I am going to make this very, very clear." Another gem splintered in his pouch, and he was not surprised to see the form of his felhound beside him as he flung the creature against the wall. "Do you know what this is, imp?" He gestured towards the demon, his grin becoming almost manic.

"Imp! Do I look like an imp, you fel-sucking flea?" Her grey eyes flicked briefly from the threatening warlock to the far more valid threat of the felhunter, who was swinging the long, thick tentacles atop it's blind head to and fro, as if searching for her. "'Course I know what it is. It's a manahound, sucks the magic from a person and leaves them -..."

"Little more than a dried and empty husk." He was close, his hands going to the wall beside her head, his nose no more than an inch from her own crooked one. "Even now, he's sniffing you out for the magic you harbor, and it's only my word that will keep him off of you. So I want you to listen quite close, gnome." He blatantly ignored the angry red flush that came over her features, powering on. "You're going to accompany me into enemy territory as my guide, since you seem to find annoying me quite amusing. I'm in a bad mood, and very likely going to light your robes on fire at the slightest moment, or I might forget to keep Jnofril off of you. When I am content that you have done your job, you will be let go. Until then, I'd start walking."

"Walking! I just bought that trike! Cost me a fortune, too!" The goblin sputtered, poking Kalthor's nose with one crooked finger. It was an action she sorely wished to take back as her sleeve burst into flame, and she was reduced to tears while flailing her arm around.

When her screams of fright became those of pain, the warlock called off the flames, gathering them in his palm before they extinguished. "I believe I have made my point, have I not?" He pulled back, glaring daggers at a passing group. They hustled past, ducking their heads and going on. The goblin girl sniffled, lifting her sleeve and looking at her scorched and blistered arm for a moment before nodding. "Good. Onward, runt."

"Mixie Cobblepot. Not runt." The goblin glared for a moment, turning on a slipper-clad heel and making her way toward the gate that had been earlier discussed. Behind her, the felhound happily trotted, his sucker-tipped tentacles never moving from more than a few inches away from her skin. With a final glance at his surroundings, Kalthor followed as well.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Meetings

AN: Double update. Sorry for the delay.

Remember, I love reviews if you feel up to giving them, or just comments if you enjoy or don't enjoy the story. If you enjoy it, please share it with your friends! The more who read, the more eager I am to get more chapters out for you lovely folks!

* * *

The forest was eerily quiet. Brinella had become somewhat used to that over the course of the last week, but it still set her fur on edge. Elven territory was beautiful, but the beauty could ensnare a person until senses left them, leaving them open and vulnerable to dangers they normally would have easily avoided.

Darkshore had been little more than a looming nightmare over the three since Ninya had vanished through the portal. The worgen spoke little, never having been one to chat the day away, but Lydros and Winnie had been just as quiet. She knew deep down that they were mourning for a friend that they felt they had lost, but a part of her still didn't want to accept that fact. More than once, Brinella had woken from slumber to hear the rogue's laughter, to see Lydros staring off into the sky as if their friend would simply fall from the heavens, a gift from the Goddess he so revered. Nothing like that happened, and as the days stretched on, they had stopped hoping the sprightly and joyful girl would return to them and all would be as it once was.

Brinella chose to focus on her own goals, thankful for the help of the others as her skills increased, and her name began to spread over the area. At each town or settlement, she would speak with each person in the hopes that someone had seen Cor or her brother. No matter how many times she had asked, the answer was always the same. It darkened her mood even further.

So they had passed through the woodland border, heading deeper and deeper into Ashenvale. It was Lydros who directed them to the small area rumored to hold those who were trying to fight off the orcish and demon invasions of the once-tranquil woods, but it did him no good to see that they were little more than demons themselves. He left Brinella and Winnie in Forest Song, one confused and the other grumbling something foul under her breath.

The draenei who had taken over the glade were peaceful, almost curious creatures themselves. They treated the women with respect and care, mending their wounds when they finished given tasks, and offering them food and drink to replenish their own. Armor was cared for with skill that far surpassed most, and they eagerly watched Brinella dry herbs and create elixirs. As the days passed with no sign of Lydros, the two began to worry.

It was one thing for the hunter to vanish, but Shade was a constant to the two. They knew that if the saber was near, the man was watching them. Not once did Shade appear, and on the fourth day, Winnie threw up her own hands, grabbed her things, and wandered off into the woods as well. On the second night of her absence, Brinella bid farewell to those within the grove, and loped off after her friends.

The night passed slowly, and she found her time spent more with picking the abundant herbs that littered the woods than following the scents that intertwined around the area. Twice she had been made to defend herself against beasts that stood twice her height, blue-skinned and covered in thick grey armor. They were brutal, tactical and quick despite their massive size. The scent that followed them became one she committed to memory quickly, with no desire to run into them again.

Others she skirted easily, not blundering into them as she had the felguards. Their taint wrapped around the woods that they had infested, turning the healthy flora into corrupt and warped figments of their once proud selves. Walking on the earth that had been changed was like walking on fire or blades, each step screaming its protest into her mind. The druid learned quickly about demons, though she had little idea of what they truly were.

There came a point where her steps faltered, and confusion spread in her mind. No more was she following the scent of her friends, who had criss-crossed so much that she had given up on finding them both and settled on finding Lydros first. Wisely, she believed that if she found him, Winnie would no doubt show up, but it was not the lack of a path that drew her up short. It was the feeling beneath her, a corruption different from the sort found around the demons.

Brinella sat back on her haunches, her broad feline muzzle pointed towards an arch of trees that seemed, or so she could feel, to call for her. A lovers beckon, images of Cor flitting through her mind in a tempting array. He was in there, she was certain. Yet something else screamed at her to stay away from the arch, so powerful that she found herself immobilized. Her eyes focused and unfocused, her nose flaring as she breathed in the scent of the area as if it would bring her honesty...

There was nothing. It was that alone that kept her away, the lack of animal scent or movement making her skin crawl. This place was too perfect, calling for her to rest and become lost amidst the boughs. It was a dream-like place, and if Brinella looked long enough, she felt as if the space between the arch of branches was warping before her eyes. With an enormous amount of conviction, she forced herself to accept that the one she looked for was not within that area.

But something was nearby. Her ears flicked, moonlight pouring over russet fur before becoming shadows again. Rising from her seat, the feline melted away into worgen, and Brinella crouched to all fours to catch the curious scent. It trailed away, past the arch and into the underbrush nearby, as if someone had thundered through the growth in pursuit of prey. The scent was strange, a mix of sweat and fear that was almost enticing to one who could become prone to feral moments like Brinella could.

She followed it to the point of entry, sniffing around the bushes for anything more. Whatever it was, it wasn't Winnie or Lydros, and that was truly all that mattered to her. With a final look at the strange grove and surrounding trees, she turned away and loped back the way she had come. It was midnight when she finally curled up, her fur melting away to bare skin while she huddled beneath the blanket, her satchel acting as a pillow.

* * *

A simple sound woke her. A shuffled foot, fabric rubbing against fabric, and tugging. A strange tugging as if something was trying to get an item from her pack. She waited as the movement stopped, and when it began once more, her hand left the blankets and snapped up lightning quick, fingers gripping coarse hair and pulling. Whatever was attached squealed unlike any animal she knew, and with a mighty heave, she pulled the flailing person around to her front.

She was struck dumb by the ugly little creature. Her fingers, already stretching as adrenaline triggered the shift from human to worgen, were curled in hair that was raggedly cut and dyed a moss green that was almost sickly. The green skin was slick with sweat, her robes dirty and ragged. In her tiny hands, Brinella's map was clutched, the humanoid's wide grey eyes looking on in fear as Brinella's mouth and face molded and stretched into the fearsome canine features.

They stared at each other for long moments, one seeming terrified and the other simply curious, until at last the tiny figure lifted her arm, and threw the thick rolled map over Brinella's head. It was then that she realized there had to be someone else, and in comical slow motion, she watched it sail over her ears and out of her reach to be caught by another humanoid. For a moment, she stared in awe.

The male couldn't have been much taller than the average human male, but his features were delicate where a humans were rough. Golden hair fell into one eye while the rest was bound in a tail that had been pulled over his shoulder. His eyes, focused on the map that flew through the air between them, were green. His robes and the staff across his back spoke of magic, but it was the ears that caught her off guard. She was sure he was little more than a pretty human man, but those alone told her he was something else.

Brinella tossed the kicking and squirming captive aside with a flick of her large paw, already turning and half-feline before Mixie ever hit the grass. No matter how beautiful the man might have been, he was stealing! A growl ripped from her throat, and his eyes went wide as she landed in front of him, already curled and tensed to strike.

"Down!"

She wasn't sure who he was yelling at, but his eyes were on her. Slowly, his hands came up, held in a way that she knew meant peace, but a side of her that had been worried had broken free, and worry had made her irrational. The command was barked again as she lunged for him, her jaws open to clamp down around an arm that never made it into her mouth. He moved like the wind, out of her range and around, moving close to pick up the seething goblin girl and make a break for the woods.

Brinella wouldn't allow that. With a roar that shook the trees, she took off after the both of them. They broke through the woods, entering a second glen that could barely be more than a few feet of bare grass. The smaller of the two tripped, and yelped as Brinella barreled over her in her determination to reach Kalthor.

"Down, girl! Dog! Cat! Whatever you are!" The man stumbled, clasping the map to his chest with one hand and covering his neck with the other. A scuffle broke out, with Brinella acting more like a cat trying to get something from beneath a piece of furniture than the muscle and sinew force of nature that she was. "Druid! Down!"

There was a twang, a shock of air past an ear, and Brinella went still. Kalthor stopped moving as well, his eyes leveled on the arrow lodged halfway into the soft soil. She could feel him swallow, his body rigid. Behind them, there was the sound of something else. The haze of predator died as Winnie rolled past them, her legs wrapped tightly around the legs of the goblin girl, while both of them punched and scratched at each other.

"Back off, Brinella." Lydros' voice was quiet, his attention focused completely on the one the feline was almost proudly sitting on. It couldn't have been comfortable, and was likely frightening as Shade joined Brinella in inspecting the intruder. With a shout of triumph, Winnie managed to pin the goblin down in a compromising position, the goblin firing off curses from beneath Winnie's leather clad backside. "The arrow wasn't meant for him. Don't make me shoot twice."

With a huff, the druid stood and removed herself from Kalthor's back, leaving the warlock gasping for air. She did not move far, sniffing idly at his hair and face. He smelled familiar, and yet she couldn't quite place it. Something just barely there, a part of him and yet not. So wrapped up in her investigation, she didn't notice the two were conversing until Winnie made a comment about being rude. Brinella was stunned back into her worgen form when Lydros moved close, offering a hand to the fallen man.

"What are ye doin', man? Tha's a felsucker! Enemy o' our people!" Winnie glared at the two elves, prodding the still squirming and cussing bundle of flesh beneath her. "Shaddup down there, pipsqueak. An' if ye bite anythin', I'll show ye my hammer from ye'r insides."

Lydros' tone was solemn when he spoke, almost seeming to push the words out from between his teeth. "This is Kalthor Flareblade." He motioned towards the map that the blonde was holding, his other hand putting the arrow back in the quiver along his back. "Arcanist, troublemaker, and..." The hunter looked like he had swallowed excrement, "the maker of that map."


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Old Friends

**AN: **It was fairly obvious these two groups were going to run into each other eventually. Originally it was going to happen differently and earlier, but like most stories, this one went through a mental revision during plotting. So we have this instead.

I have taken (once again) some minor liberties with the geography of the landscape in Ashenvale. This is more because I highly doubt that the span of this forest could be crossed in seven minutes by mount, and there's always more to an area than what we see. I am reminded of a beautiful fanart that was done of Darkshore a few years ago, which showed the city as more than just a few buildings and made the events of Cataclysm a hundred times more painful for me as a writer.

For anyone curious about where this 'grove' is relatively located on the Ashenvale map, it's somewhere near the portal that once spawned Dream Dragons. I have no clue if that spot still exists (I have not yet finished Ashenvale on Brinella in-game), but for those people who used to slaughter the overgrown lizards as much as I did, that's the general area.

Hence the reference at the end. Oh, what lovely things are hiding, I wonder!

As always, feel free to review.

* * *

The fire was warm, fighting back the shadows that were cast around them with a cover of gold and red that threw Kalthor's features into sharp relief. The tension between all of them was tangible, save for the shape-changing woman that he could only classify as a Druid. Anything else seemed too far for him to reach. They sat in a circle, large logs having been rolled up by Brinella while Mixie trotted along behind in some sort of awe. Kalthor had to admit he had his own questions, but they could be saved for another time.

The one who complained loudest was Winnie. The forest rang with her objections to sitting with members of the Horde, to eating with them, and even to listening to them. There was nothing but hate in her eyes for the warlock and goblin, and though she finally sat beside Lydros, the flames of her anger were nearly as tangible as those that glimmered between them. While the bridge between the factions was a rickety one, Kalthor had never known someone who showed such outright hostility. Once again, his questions would have to wait.

"I am not ashamed to admit some shock at how time has affected you, old friend." Lydros did not let his eyes wander to the warlock, focusing instead on staring into the fire as if it might speak instead. His bow and quiver had been set aside, leaving only his ears to be his weapon. They twitched at every sound, and though Lydros did not completely trust him, it was not that which kept the hunter on edge.

Kalthor managed a thin-lipped smile, tearing his eyes from the wolf-woman to his hands where he spun a ring on his finger. Tria's ring. "We have all done things in our foolishness. Some are more grave than others." His voice lightened as he tried mirth, but it fell flat and hollow. "I see your taste in friends has not changed in the least. Short, feral... I half expect you keep Irial tied somewhere so that she would not complain. Where is the woman, Lydros? It's rare for you to travel without her."

He knew he had stepped wrong when the whole of Lydros' body tensed as if he had been stabbed. Even Winnie blanched, that mask of simmering fury failing her as it turned to open concern for her friend. "Ah, I grieve for your loss as well. Irial was an open and sweet woman, if a bit more opinionated than most would have liked." Kalthor chuckled softly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in memory. "She took every chance she could to bring me down a peg or twelve, and loft you higher on that pedestal of yours."

"I do not recognize that name. This... Irial." Brinella's voice was coarse in her worgen form, and Kalthor furrowed his brows while he struggled to understand her. There was a long silence before the wolf-woman sighed and straightened, her form shifting and shortening slightly to become human. "I apologize. I forget sometimes that while I am among friends, I am not privy to their lives as I would prefer. I feel this is something better left to rest in the past than dig it up like a flower bulb to plant it where it does not belong." Kalthor watched her run her finger through her hair nervously, her eyes averted.

"You are almost as difficult to understand when you speak now, as you are when you are..." His hands moved as if struggling to find the right words for it. He found himself surprised once again when Brinella spoke, though he wasn't certain he liked the tone she answered him in.

"Monster?" The woman shrugged lightly, her own hands held in a motion of surrender. "You do not need to look at me as if I am insane, or degrading myself. I am a worgen, and a worgen is a monster. Not a woman, not a wolf. The only thing I am besides that is a Druid, though that does not make my presence any easier to bear." Brinella's fingers went to her lips, tapping lightly, and Kalthor was intrigued by the smile he saw there. "I do, however, sympathize. Your own tongue, though it is the common language you speak, makes it hard to understand some things that you say."

He chuckled, nodding slowly while his mind wrapped around her words. "I hear strains of a heritage from the highlands, but I have heard of no outbreak such as yours from anywhere other than secluded spots in some human areas. Perhaps my knowledge is as lacking as I feared it would be when I was younger."

"Gilnean." Brinella leaned forward, poking at the embers that surrounded the fire with a twig that she soon lobbed into the flames as well. "I am a daughter of Gilneas, a city that has been behind a wall for a long time. No longer, as we've suffered from civil war, this worgen curse, and an attack from what I understand are Forsaken. The wall is broken, and my homeland sundered. A tale that is not strange, from what I gather of what I see in your eyes."

Kalthor flicked his eyes briefly to Winnie, who had only moved to poke at the sleeping goblin at Brinella's feet. The tiny humanoid had been plastered to the Druid since Brinella had mended her ill-healing arm, though Kalthor was sure that they would still be forced to search their packs for explosive devices when they woke. Mixie was a wily one. "It's a common story, though no less tragic because of it. Suffice to say that you are not the only nation that has been dealt a severe blow. It is my hope that you will find a way to recover in a fashion that befits you."

Brinella smiled, her head tilted for a moment before she looked away and set her attention elsewhere. That lasted for only a few heartbeats, and then she rose to her feet and made her way into the wooded shadows outside the range of the campfire. Kalthor knew the reason before it was ever spoken. Brinella's apology had said it clearly; Lydros only confirmed it.

"We do not try to treat her as if she is a monster, but it is hard. She sets herself apart on her own, as if afraid she might corrupt us as well, but we do not do much better. It is difficult to trust that which might turn on you without warning, but I have always lived that way." The hunter slid his scarred hands together, knitting the fingers and pulling them apart almost nervously.

"Sadly, my friend... until you confide in her the same way that you do others, you are treating her as little more than an outcast. You perpetuate her notion that she is indeed nothing more than a monster. I have seen monsters, Lydros. No matter the body she might take, no matter how frightening or how feral, the heart of a woman beats strongly in her. She deserves the love of a friend, but deep respect would be enough for her at this point, I gather." Kalthor sat back on his palms, watching the dark where Brinella had vanished.

"Fat lot o' good it is fer ye ta sit here an' blunder aboot in things that are none of ye'r concern." Winnie turned her attention away from the goblin, now splayed out on her stomach and snoring softly, to glare at him. "Ye've no righ' ta come out o' nowhere an' dance aboot like ye own tha place." The dwarf couldn't keep her voice down, her pitch raising in anger even as she leaned across Lydros in a clear attempt to threaten the warlock.

It worked, and Kalthor breathed a sigh of relief as Lydros grasped his friend by the shoulder and pulled her back to her seat. "Hush, Winnie. Kalthor has never been a man of strict loyalties. Even when he stood beside others in the Third War, he was there to benefit himself and no one else. No matter the side he is on now, he can be judged on his own thoughts and values." Lydros' eyes met Kalthor's for a moment, his lips turning in a frown. "No matter how skewed those may seem."

"I've made bad choices, yes. For myself and for others." Kalthor fingered the map that lay open beside him. He knew the parchment like he knew his own body, and knew that it had been the one to belong to Sura. There was no question in his mind how it had changed hands; Sura's mark was still present on the map, it had merely been permitted to be modified by another. The worgen girl. "One mistake I hope to remedy before it is too late."

He took up the parchment, his eyes focused on the ink as it swirled and danced before his eyes. The map seemed happy to be in his hands again, but he had never given the item sentience. It was a hollow desire. "I've lost a friend of mine, and her trail seems to have died among the trees here. Mixie is no tracker, nor am I. I had little hope of finding her again, when I stumbled onto Brinella." He smiled as the map settled on the outline of Ashenvale, and the mark that represented the Druid slowly pathed along the landscape south of their own clustered dots.

"Never in my dreams could I have imagined that I would run into my own craft again. I gave the last map of mine to... to another friend, before I went through the portal. Ah, Sura was always far too kind." There was no mistaking the blatant curiousity that both had shown when he stumbled on his words. Was his pain that evident? "Yet I cannot summon the link that binds us and would allow me to show her here. My fortune is still not complete, it would seem."

They remained in silence for a time, Kalthor staring at the parchment as if it might yield beneath his eyes. It did not, and he rolled it up again, offering it to Lydros. "My own folly. Only a woman could press me into such a corner and not have me give up with my hands thrown skyward. Or perhaps it is only because I love her, and would do any foolish thing to make her see that."

Lydros took the map, tucking it into the packs that Brinella had abandoned before she had wandered away. "Many a strong man has fallen because of a nice pair of legs, as my friend here would say." He jerked his thumb at Winnie, who glared at him for a moment before looking away once more. "Why would you have been separated from this friend?"

"You remember the priestess that I accompanied during that war, do you not?" He saw Lydros nod, and continued. "I followed her out of friendship then, standing with her and others. You could say that she had begun to sway my loyalties to myself even then. Things began to change, and when we faced the troubles of our race... we succumbed to the grief of our brethren. I lost her in that time, while I began to toy with powers far beyond my control, she was harnessing the powers of a Naaru that had been captured. While I was falling, she was flying. While I chased her, determined to bring her to my bed, I was blind to the fact that she had already been caught until the last possible moment."

Kalthor chuckled, but it was a dry sound. His fingers lifted to ruffle his hair, and he rolled his head back to watch the sky. "How I missed it, I still haven't an idea. Her love went to another who followed her same path, and I was woken from my dreams of her as my mate with the announcement of her betrothal. It was a staggering blow, but I should have expected it. I had left her side to pursue my own power to impress her, and she had moved on. I was never more than a friend to her.

But I was not the only one to feel betrayed. Oh, I ached in all the ways a man would when losing a woman dear to him, but I was not alone. A week before the events were to come to pass, her beloved was torn from her by another woman." Kalthor's hands covered his eyes. "Not just a woman, either. Her own flesh and blood. The matters grew worse when that shattering moment was compounded and it was revealed that her sister carried the child of the man she had loved. Triadae changed the day she learned of the tryst, but that was what changed her.

The woman I loved was capable of laughter and joy. Her abilities to seal wounds extended past the physical and even into the mental and emotional, but she was never able to mend the ones that were inflicted on herself. Triadae would listen to no one else when they tried to explain; the poison of doubt and hate her sister had planted in her had spread too fast for us to rescue her, and Tria had always held a stubborn face.

Her betrothed had sworn up and down that he had never meant for what had happened to occur. Light, he could barely remember anything aside from having imbibed enough drink that it took three days for his head to clear and let him stand without a headache. He remembered little more than her sister offering him a glass of wine in celebration, and that was it. Yet Triadae never let go of the blow to her pride, and damned them both."

"One who was truly in love would never do a thing like that." Brinella's voice was quiet, but stern.

Kalthor nearly jumped from his skin, turning to cast his gaze up to her face, but his eyes never made it that far. Between the furred and lengthened hands was clutched a familiar object that made his throat constrict. Tria's two-handed sword, unmistakeable from the gilded sheath that encased it, to the golden pheonix with outspread wings that comprised the hilt, inset with tiny rubies. "Where..."

"When I first smelled you after Lydros demanded I stand down, you carried something beneath the rest that I couldn't quite identify. It was familiar, but not in a manner that struck me as anything that I should know. I knew that if I came across the scent again, I would recognize it better, but I figured the chance of that was slim. There are many scents in these woods." She held out the ornate blade, and Kalthor took it with shaking hands.

"While trying to find the others, I came across a..." She fumbled for the right word, then shrugged, "a grove. Not an accurate word, but the best that I can think to compare it to. It is a bad place," she looked to Lydros for support, but even he seemed not to grasp what she was trying to say and she stumbled, "the grove is completely surrounded by a thick growth of flora that has only one arch inward that I could find. That was natural, at least. The scent I found, that was on you? It ended where I found the sword, tangled in the growth like it had been stripped from the bearer and the plants were trying to make it a part of themselves."

"The feeling of that place is something that I cannot explain. Staring into the arch is like watching the filmy surface of a bubble, but one that you can only barely make out. There is great evil in that grove, and I fear your friend may have stumbled into it. Whether on her own or by anothers hand, I could not tell." Her canine features showed worry, and apology. "That place calls sweetly to me, but it is a call akin to a cloaked dagger held by a loved one."

Lydros leaned over again, grabbing the map and tossing it to Brinella. The woman opened it and set it down between them all, the clawed tip of her finger drawing a line from their current place as if she were retracing her steps. "Here." She touched a spot towards the north, still blank. "I know it seems as though I have not been there, but I have. It is this place." Her eyes went to Kalthor, who was instead looking towards Lydros.

His pale features did very little to comfort any of them. "That is the last place a troubled soul would want to travel," he finally managed to croak, "and I have seen many a place in that same position."

Kalthor moved to his feet with hurried grace, not even looking back at them and vanishing into the treeline. Frantic moments followed, with Brinella not knowing what to do until Winnie lifted the dozing goblin, handing her off to the worgen woman after a moment of pondering whether to throw her into the fire. Lydros thwarted it by dousing the fire, turning to Brinella, his finger pointing after the warlock. "Follow him, Brinella. No matter what calls for him, no matter how he fights you, do _not_ let him enter that place. Or we will lose him as he has lost his friend."

Brinella nodded, tearing after the blood elf and rousing the goblin in the process. The worgen paused only long enough to shift into her familiar feline shape, Mixie scrambling onto her back and clinging for dear life as Brinella thundered through the woods. Behind her, she could barely hear the echoed warnings of Lydros chasing her.

"The nightmare lets no one live. Do not let him pass!"


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Dreams

_**AN:** My characters need vacations from me, I think. I don't exactly enjoy tormenting them as I'm prone to doing, I really don't. I'm sure one of them will snap and try to kill me one of these days. You know. In my dreams._

_I have to take a moment to do a little happy dance here. 50k words and counting. Couldn't even manage that for NaNoWriMo. Anywho, I've stuck in my favorite race/class combo into these next few chapters. I'm saddened Blizzard has not yet incorporated them into the game, but all things in good time I suppose. Doesn't stop me from dragging them out of the RPG kicking and screaming!_

_Feel free to R&R, I do love the feedback. Otherwise, I hope you are enjoying the story!_

* * *

Brinella ran with all that she had, and still never managed to catch the felcaster. Twice she was forced to retrace her steps to find Mixie, who had been struck from her back by a low-hanging branch. Both times she had been told to continue on without the little humanoid, but Brinella had no desire to leave anyone behind. It did not matter to her what 'side' that the goblin might have been on, or what others might think of her running through the woods with the woman riding her like the Kaldorei did their sabers. It mattered only to her that no one was harmed, and she felt that the best way for that was to stay together.

By the time they reached the area that she was sure Kalthor's friend had vanished into, the warlock was nowhere to be seen. Dropping her body down for the goblin to dismount, Brinella waited patiently before letting herself release the spirit of the cat and become worgen again. What met her senses made her stomach lurch. "We're too late," she rumbled, her ears laying flat against her skull. Kalthor's scent, the sickening fel-taint that followed him, wound around the grass and shrubbery before vanishing into the warped archway.

"Long-ears said to keep him out of there, yeah? How do we keep him out if he's already gone in?" Mixie plopped herself down on the ground, rubbing at her thighs and calves. Riding a cat was not nearly as easy as it looked, and she was more sore from the brief ride than from the endless trekking through the woods that Kalthor had forced her to do. "So you know, I'm not going in there." She stabbed a green finger at the archway, her long nose wrinkling.

"Neither of us are." Brinella crouched, running her clawed hands over the grass. "Lydros told me not to let him go in. I failed at that. I will not have us both wander like that. We will wait until the others get here."

"Awful obedient, aren't ya?" Mixie grinned, revealing a gold tooth and a gap beside that. "Just like a dog, ya know? I'm surprised they haven't given ya some stupid pet name and feed ya all the treats your good little doggie self might want." She propped herself back on her elbows, watching Brinella closely. The goblin wasn't fooled by the woman's silence, her ears betraying all of her emotions. Easily readable, just like a pooch.

Despite the lack of sharpness in Mixie's tone, Brinella was stung. She couldn't tell if the funny little thing was simply trying to get under her hide or was pointing out the truth, but it felt like a little bit of both. Just a little. Kalthor had been kind, despite Winnie's constant needling and Lydros' distant distrust. He had treated her with respect, had been unafraid to look her in the eye or even let his guard down around her. As heartening as it was to think about that, it still rang hollow. He may not have been scared of her as a monster in his eyes, but that only meant that he had seen far worse than her.

That did not sit well with her. If she had owned a tail, it would have been flicking in irritation. For a moment, she considered becoming feline just to vent her frustration in such a way. Her eyes focused on the archway, seemingly delving deep into her thoughts. She could go, fetch the warlock and his companion, and be back. Perhaps Kalthor had only wandered a few feet into the grove and stood waiting? What could possibly be inside that would have made Lydros pale so quickly?

Brinella wished that she had paid better attention to the Druids. Tipping back until she fell to her rear, her eyes wouldn't leave the arch. Mentally, she went through all of her knowledge. She recognized the scent of demons and the feel of their taint in nature. Kalthor smelled of them, but not as deeply as those who had completely succumbed to the taint or even become demons themselves. His magic did not warp the area around him as others did. The magic in this grove was not demon-taint, then.

Nor was it the odd tingle left behind after the summoning of a great spell cast by a weaver of arcane. That one left a strange smell, like the air after the strike of lightning. There was no fire, no frost. No latent runes that could have been left to trap the unsuspecting. Brinella broke her gaze from the grove to look towards Mixie, who had turned herself back the way they had come. No, nothing like her.

Sharp claws dug into the dirt, furrowing holes that left soil to wrap around her fingers. It was no magic but her own, that undying bond between her and the woods. Nature, pleasant and peaceful in one spot, and then dark and tempestuous only a few feet past. The darkened hollow that has heard one too many secrets, and the light glen that has seen so much laughter. Until now, Brinella had only been privy to the damage of demonic corruption and the scream of the woods when cut beneath an iron axe. This new corruption set her fur on edge. It frightened her.

Yet, Kalthor had run headlong into it to save someone that Lydros had all but claimed gone. Without caring about the danger, without wondering if he might never walk free again, he had gone. She felt guilt deep in her heart, and shame pushed around it to fill the holes. He was kind. He was gentle. He was in love. The very same as she had been before everything had gone so horribly wrong. It wasn't fair.

"Stay here." Her voice was hoarse, more from emotion than from the natural sound that went past her canine features. "I'll come back with both of them." She stood, her stride taking her to the arch in only moments, and she threw a glance back at Mixie.

The goblin returned her look with remarkable neutrality. Insane? Yes, the girl was insane for wanting to go into a place like that. It was no business of hers if the whole lot of them wanted to traipse off into blissful death. Or perhaps not so blissful, Mixie wasn't sure. If they all went off, she'd loot their bags for valuables and then be on her way. It was a win-win. Still, she couldn't manage even a smile for the worgen. Smiling seemed... superficial. Even to her.

Brinella took no offense to the lack of even a reaction. Somehow, she knew that the tiny humanoid would still be right there when she returned. She was no judge of character, but there was the feeling that Mixie wanted to see if someone really would walk back out. While Mixie had never said anything to validate her thoughts, Brinella felt that the goblin was used to walking away, or watching others walk away. Perhaps that was normal for them. "I'll come back." With that, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Her eyes closed, and she took the single step needed to pass the gate...

… and walked into a field of green. For a long moment, she expected an attack. When none came, she opened one eye and then the other, releasing the deep breath she had taken. Around here, there was nothing. Brinella saw no trees, no plants, and there was no sign of the archway she had just stepped into behind her. All there was, coating the ground at her feet in a rippling wave, was fog.

Green, glistening, ethereal fog that swirled in invisible eddies of wind that she never felt. Somehow, Brinella felt as disappointed as she was curious. Surely no one was afraid of simple vapor, no matter how odd it might seem! She found her respect of Lydros dropping just slightly, cutting below their uneasy friendship. For the first time, she found herself truly annoyed with the man. Annoyed with all of them.

Her curiosity pushed her further into the endless world, watching the fog coil around her padded feet and dissipating only to come again in thicker waves. For long minutes she walked, wondering how such surroundings could be kept as they were inside of a forest thick with trees and the sound of life. There was nothing here, nothing but her and the endless sea of green. Frustration began to mount in her mind. This was a trick, a foolish prank played by the others. It had to be.

Brinella turned to leave, to go back the way she had come, and then remembered that there was nothing. There had been no way back, no sign that anything had ever existed, and she had been wandering aimlessly with her head facing in any direction. No scents to follow, nothing to use as a marker. She was lost in nothingness with only the fog to help her know ground from sky. A sound from her left made her turn, and as she did, another sound came from behind.

She turned again, whipping around so quickly that she almost twisted herself into a heap of limbs. Steadying herself, she caught sight of something small beneath the foaming fog. A line of things, dark and creeping. With nothing else to do, Brinella crept closer to the moving things, only to find that no matter how close she felt she had gotten, they were out of reach again. Already lost beyond remembrance, she broke into a run...

… and nearly tripped over something large that appeared at her feet. Before she could take it in, the stench of death hit her and made her retch, bowling her back with both hands clapped over her muzzle and her eyes squeezed shut. Fetid, weeks old and molding, marked by a hundred animals – the scents kept coming, and one beneath them all that brought horrified tears to her eyes. With her stomach still turning, threatening to disgorge what little food remained, Brinella opened her eyes and forced herself to look at the source of her distress.

Her eyes took in the sight of mangled flesh and bone, great tears of skin gone from an animal that she had a hard time placing in its current position. Weeks had gone by, letting nature's creatures continue what always must be done; feeding on what once fed on them. Dried blood stained the grass around it, and the pelt was coated with grease and droppings. Only one thing remained untouched, only one thing had seemed to escape what the rest of it had not.

Brinella's legs went numb, and she fell to her knees. Sickness overtook her, and she spent a long minute retching on the ground before throwing her head back into an agonized wail. Her fur melted, tears splashing her palms and knees as she alternated between rocking back and forth like a child and holding her head in her hands. All for naught... this had all been for nothing!

She found herself unable to be sickened by the writhing beneath the once-white pelt, the scent that had assailed her before nothing more than a dull annoyance to her shock and pain. All she had hoped for splintered and crashed around her. Her fingers reached out, sliding against the broad feline forehead before dropping down to close the blue eyes that stared, unseeing, through her.

Darkness enveloped her senses, closing off sensibility and logic behind a curtain of loneliness and pain. She reached, took the massive head between her hands and pulled, ignoring the crack of bone and sinew as the thing came free. The last, untouched part of the one who had given her hope that all things would be tolerable, even as a monster. Her love and her life, the one who helped her feel as though life was worth continuing, even as a monster. Brinella's agony was muffled in his white fur, her tears staining Cor's pelt.

Behind her, something moved in the shadows.

* * *

Blazing heat met him first, stealing the moisture from his skin and making it ache when he moved. The ground beneath his feet shook menacingly, forcing him to brace his stance or fall. Above him, the sky rippled with colors as the day wore on; green stark against purple and black. Kalthor turned on his heel and was greeted with a sight that amused and confused him all at once.

Hellfire Peninsula stretched before him, brilliantly colored. Speckled beneath the cliff he stood on were the camps of the Legion, teeming with succubi and tinkerers who serviced the menacing fel-powered cannons. In the far reaches of his keen sight, he could see the outline of the Alliance stronghold they had dubbed Honor Hold, and closer than that were the horde buildings that comprised Thrallmar.

"_I've never heard of a portal in the elven lands,_" Kalthor mused to himself, drinking in the sight before him. It had been so very long since he had been here, so long. The demon taint he had become accustomed to was far stronger here, where demons had long turned the world to their own uses. "_No wonder the worgen was so frightened._" A sound from behind him made him turn, looking at the rise where a slender figure stood tall. His heart leapt into his throat, and he nearly shouted with relief and joy.

Vryn'dell smiled, her hands held out to him in welcome. Her voice was soft and warm, a voice he remembered from times long past. "My son. I was so worried for you." The distance between them was closed quickly, her hands brushing through his golden hair and framing his face for a few moments before she seemed to realize that he was a grown man, and not the child she had doted on for years.

"Me? It was _you _who worried _me_." He looked her over, and frowned just slightly. The runes that marred her skin were more pronounced, glimmering eerily along her body. The robes she wore were those that were worn by the very highest of the Felblood, and – how had he missed them! - horns curled up from her forehead. A quick glance showed that the wing-like appendages had shown up as well. "You've..."

"Changed? No, my precious boy. I'm still your mother. I'm still the person I was. Simply more powerful. All the things I've ever wanted, I have been granted." She smiled again, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Come, my love. See what Kil'jaeden can bring to you as well. Everything you've ever wanted! He'll forgive you the anger you've shown him before."

He melted beneath her look, entranced by the love that she showed him. Something nagged at him, deep in his core that wouldn't break free. Determined to make certain his mother was truly fine, he shoved it away and closed the door on it. It was nothing that mattered. All that mattered was here with him, now.

Content with his obedience, Vryn'dell turned to guide him from the plateau they had been standing upon. Her steps left no mark in the loose dirt, no trail marked by the sweeping hem of her gown. The ground darkened from it's technicolor brightness and became the dusky gray and green of a demon's influence. In this case, many. She side-stepped the militant figure of a Wrathguard, the enormous demon showing no notice of her or the man who followed like a lost pup.

Kalthor knew this place. The ground cracked under his feet, fine dust puffing around his slippers and clinging to the ornate robes he wore. His eyes, burning bright so close to the source of his addiction, took in the scene of the Throne. Nothing seemed to have changed in the time he had been gone. The burning pyres still held the suspended Terrorguards, and around them were still those who were gifted with that prey.

His skin tingled, remembering vividly how it felt to drain the demons. A rush that no magic could ever compare to, that bloodthistle could only dream of giving the one who imbibed of it. Fel was power. Fel was life and joy. Distantly, he heard a howl and paused in his walking, lengthy ears trying to pinpoint the sound. Not one of agony or torture, but of anguish.

"The unfaithful, Kalthor. The rubbish beneath our boots, and no more than that." Vryn'dell glanced back at him, waiting patiently while her son seemed to work out his own confusion. "So many of our brethren they have slaughtered. You could have been one of them, precious. Not anymore. You've come here to be where you belong. With those who love you. Leave the damned to their fates."

Again Kalthor was forced to hold the door against an unknown feeling. The cry died and became only sobs, soft words uttered that he couldn't quite catch. That was not physical pain. It was emotional anguish, whispered pleas for something that had gone wrong to be taken back. In a realm of torture and death, why was someone crying like that? It disturbed him, his brow furrowing a moment. The sobs died, dissolving into whimpers that were soon lost on the wind.

He shook off the sense of unease, quickly catching up to his companion and looking around once more. Close beside him, one of the sacrifices bobbed in the air, all but devoid of life. Unbidden, Kalthor licked his lips and felt that surge of desire swell again.

As if sensing his silent question, her hand went to the small of his back to guide him closer. "Go ahead. Take what you deserve." Her voice was coaxing, wheedling without pushing him directly. Vyrn'dell smiled behind his back, this time a grin of malice and triumph. "Take it, my son..."

Kalthor shuddered, anticipation rising until he could take it no longer. His mind reached out, twisting along the channels of power and latching onto the aura of corrupted magic that lingered about the powerful demon. With a tug, he pulled it back to himself, felt the line yield under his touch and flow into him like water that had been freed from a dam. More and more, he brought the power to join with his own, bolstering it. His eyes fell closed against the rush that not even the most carnal acts could not surpass.

His body changed, skin becoming reddened and sunshine-fair hair darkening to the color of a crow's wing. Along his arms formed runes that swirled along Vyrn'dell's own body, reaching down until he was covered with vibrantly pulsing lines and designs that burned as bright as his own eyes did. A moment of pain, blissful agony, accompanied the growth of horns and wings. When the line died, the demon drained so completely that it vanished into a cloud of ash that danced on a breeze, only then did he open his eyes again.

The power rushed through him, bringing the world into a different set of light and color that he had never thought to see before. This was true power. This was what made cities bow before the mighty, and people bend to every whim. A laugh sprung forth from him, his eyes going to his hands as they flexed and curled slender fingers. "So this is power..." His voice had deepened, almost a seductive rumble from deep within his chest. Yes, this would do...

"Yes. With it, you can do anything you've ever dreamed of. Seems foolish to have held off for so long, doesn't it?" Her arm linked with his own, leaning against him with a saccharine smile on her full lips. "Come. Show yourself just what you can do now..." Vryn'dell drew herself from him, stepping away and past the structures and spires that channeled magic and demons.

Kalthor smelled them long before he saw them. Fear and loathing, curiosity and pity. Dark emotions tangled together into a knot that he unwound with a simple cut straight through. Time and patience were nothing to him now, forgotten mannerisms that seemed like things only a child would care for. He followed behind the robed woman, standing taller and prouder than ever before. They were filth beneath him, swine for the use of the Felblood. For the Legion.

The captives they approached were penned in by a rock wall on one side, and the watchful eyes of the Wrathguard on the other. Various races, some clung together in small groups and others wailed on their own. Still others were apart from the rest, staring blankly at the fate that awaited them. Stripped of armor and weapons, chained by relics that drained them of strength and magic, they were helpless sheep among wolves.

One sat alone, her arms shackled above her head. Her robes were dirty and torn, white among the gray ash that she sat in. Her head hung, cascades of vibrant red hair hiding her face from the truth for both her and anyone who viewed her. Dried blood marred her arms, wrists rubbed raw by what must have been hours of straining against her bonds. Even as dirty and broken as she was, she was beautiful. He knew she would be.

"_How? How do I know these things?_" The question rang in his mind as he stepped closer to her, past the ones who cowered from him and those who stared at him as if begging him to end their misery. "_Is this where she has been hiding? Playing prisoner to the very demons we cut down together?_" His mind reeled with realization, and the door was flung open.

Too late.

The prisoner's head moved slightly, a groan of pain passing through her lips as he nudged a foot against her legs. Kalthor knelt, slipping his fingers beneath her chin to tilt her face up to his own. Their eyes met, and he felt a surge of elation to read fear in the hazy blue-green of hers. He watched her lips part, try to form words that wouldn't come. Instead, a soft whimper of pain was all that left. Kalthor smiled, his other hand coming to frame her face. "No more, Tria. There will be no more suffering for you. Never again, no one will hurt you or break you. Mine..."

A sound of refusal met his ears, tinged with fear-riddled doubt. The woman tried to pull her head away, and moaned in pain when his grip tightened. Anger suffused him, washing over him in a wave. "_No..._" The untamed wave wouldn't stop, taking up his controlled energy in a great torrent with the magic he had just filled himself with. Unable to control the mix, her felt it press at his mind, luring him into releasing it or being consumed as well.

Triadae's eyes widened as he leaned closer, breathing gently on her neck before kissing the skin there. He inhaled her scent, trailing his nose up along her jaw and then to her own, his lips pressing against hers. There was no gentleness in his embrace, his fingers digging into her skin until she ceased her struggling and cried out in pain. Kalthor seized the moment, deepening his kiss until her mouth was open to him...

… and released the fel magic that boiled inside of his body. He felt her body go rigid, her scream muffled against his lips as fire ran uncontrolled and turned her skin pink before it blistered, as ether ran in her blood and turned it hot and cold all at once. He held her, gripping her arms so tightly that his fingers began to push into skin that was liquifying beneath his touch. Triadae's screams died, but the one in his mind did not. Locked in his own mind, he watched himself end her life. "_This isn't the way it happened! This isn't the way!_"

Unheard to him, excited chitters and hisses exulted in the sounds of his torment.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Corrupt Compassion

_**AN:** Okay, I lied. Quite a few of my race/class combo favorites ended up in this arc. Savagekin, Druid of the Nightmare, and Dragonsworn. Back to Tria for the next chapter!_

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Lydros cursed under his breath, watching the archway with a calculating eye. He should have known that the girl wouldn't listen to him, though he had thought she would certainly catch Kalthor and keep him in place. Anyone else who knew the dangers, who had grown up knowing how far corruption stretched in the world, would have listened. Brinella had, beneath the quiet manner and obedience, a heart that ached for others. He wondered where he had left his own behind.

Those who lived as long as the elves, those who delved into the annals of history, knew more than what most Kaldorei would tell. They had come to accept that the naga were born of them, as well as the satyr. Both races had once been like them, and it was their pride and folly that had created them. Lydros barely tolerated Kalthor and his fel-magic, knowing that they were only a younger race of his own. Youth brought inexperience and with it, mistakes. Though their races were now distanced completely, set on separate sides of a fence that few chose to cross, he found it hard to hate them as some others easily could.

Winnie, on the other hand, was quite avid about hating. The little woman was filled with frothing rage at anyone who wore the symbol of the Horde or associated with them. Sometimes, he felt the need to point out that her ferocity was quite similar to the reckless abandon of the orcs or trolls, but he held his tongue at those times. The last thing he wanted to do was turn her anger on him, no desire in him to meet the blunt edge of her mace yet again.

It was that anger that she held which made it impossible for her to accompany him into the grove. Worse still, that she had told no one who knew her about what lingered in her mind made it doubly dangerous. For Lydros, treading the grove had been done before and he only barely survived with the help of someone else on the inside. Someone else who could reach them through a common, known thread. There wouldn't be that for the woman.

He had thought that the grove had been wiped out. Looking at it, he could see the signs of effort made to do just that. Charred bark and burned leaves had been drawn back into the surrounding growth, like a burned hand beneath an enveloping sleeve. Places where the brush and trees had been hacked into now stood clear in his sight, but the place was still here. Still waiting and watching, calling to those who harbored hate and anger, sorrow and shame. Those were the easiest to feed on. Those were the easiest to destroy.

The druids revered the Emerald Dream. When the new Well of Eternity had been brought to light after the Sundering, Malfurion and three of the great Aspects created a pact to keep the second well away from the Burning Legion, so that there would never again be the chaos and destruction that they had just suffered. Alexstraza, leader of the Red Dragonflight, planted a single enchanted acorn in the Well. Powered by the potent magic that lay within, it grew quickly. It towered above them, and they called it Nordrassil.

This tree, an everlasting symbol to the night elves and what was hoped to heal the world over time, was blessed by Nozdormu. The Guardian of Time, he enchanted the tree so that as long as it stood, the Kaldorei would never age or die from sickness or disease.

It was Ysera's gift that the druids were most affected by. The mighty tree was linked to her realm, the ethereal plane of the Emerald Dream. It was in that realm that the druids slumbered for centuries on end, upholding a sacred bargain with the Dreamer herself. Alexstraza was the Life-Binder, but there were those who revered the green dragon in a different light. It was Ysera who regulated the flow of nature in her realm, shaping the very evolution of the world there. To some, she was the tangible goddess that Elune could never be.

The Emerald Dream was described as a blueprint, the place Azeroth could have been if intelligent life had not changed it. Fertile and lush, the place most people in crowded places dreamed of. In that case, they visited it often. Those who dreamed were welcome in Ysera's realm. Most never realized that they had tread such fantastic paths, the memories gone on their waking. It was those who forced their physical selves into the Dream who encountered trouble. The denizens of that magical place did not take kindly to such intrusion.

But even the most peaceful and guarded places could become twisted and tainted. Yes, there were those who revered the Emerald Dream. There were those who did not, as well. The ones who dreamed could touch upon a taint in the perfect realm of the Dream. Sometimes, this led only to a loss of self. Other times, it was far worse. Those driven mad by the corruption pushed nature from themselves and became twisted reflections of the druids they once had been.

Capable of spreading madness, they had grown in strength and number as people began to willingly follow in their paths. Divorced from the natural order, they no longer channeled the spirit of the bear or cat, did not swim as a seal or run as a cheetah. Instead, they took on the shape of nightmare and fear. The most powerful of all did not age as Lydros would. They merely... changed.

In these areas nearest to the Great Trees, seedlings of the towering Nordrassil, they were present. Easily forgotten, for few ever left the grove, and those who did had no desire to speak of what lingered there. Lydros knew how they felt. Lydros knew all too well the power of the druids of Nightmare. As long as even a small amount of Nightmare was left to fester in the Dream or to push out, so they would survive.

A rustling behind him turned his sight and mind from the arch. Lydros smiled, a very rare smile that spoke of both relief and pity. Three shapes slipped from the shadows that now spilled around them as day turned to night once more. Massive figures, even the smallest barely needing to tip her head back to view him in the eyes. Three druids, as feral as most would never think to believe. They rarely left these woods, he knew. If they did, they flew as one to find another forest to guard. Nature was their home.

Savagekin, comfortable as animal and dismissing the person they once were, were yet another branch of the druidic tree. Powerful and the most primal of the druids, they paid a steep price for their power, being forced to fight for their humanity every waking moment. For one of the three, this was a trial she could not complete without the other two.

The smallest was colored a silver-blue, her markings a silvery white like the other two. She was young, talented in the ways of the wild but too free-spirited to be chained under conventional training. The largest was a massive beast of white, his eyes a vibrant gold that searched the surroundings avidly. Twice the size of a riding saber, he was a formidable opponent. He had to be.

Between the two was a cat of the same color as twilight. Dark fur that hinted of violet in the sunlight, the only striking thing about her was the most damning. Outcast of the druidic fold, Rylien was Savagekin and Nightmare. Her skills went far beyond simple shapes, giving her the ability to shift into any animal she knew well. In the trees, he could spot the broad-winged raven who followed her as her companion. None of that helped her – it only made her more dangerous. Young and foolish at one point, Rylien had pushed her physical body into the Emerald Dream, and had stumbled into the Nightmare.

Her eyes were silver, shining with an underlay of ethereal green. The opacity of the green changed when her sanity changed, warning those who were near and dear when it was time to run. She was never apart from the two who flanked her; she would die by their own hands when she could not longer fight off her corruption. When the druids of Moonglade had turned their backs on her, she had devoted herself to Ysera and the Emerald Dream. Lydros never asked if her loyalty was answered; a scar on his back was his lasting reminder of the first – and last – time he had done so.

"She is inside." Rylien's voice was a breath on the wind as she changed, standing before him as the slender and muscle-ridden female that she had been before. "I do not know exactly where, and I do not know for how long she has been in there, yet she is. So too, are the three you seek."

"Three? Only two, and they both be daft brats that are better left where they put their fancy selves." Winnie's voice was ice from where she sat, glowering at the sleeping goblin that had stayed behind.

Lydros wished he had told her to keep quiet. Rylien's temper was quick to rise and flare, and it took years for her to let go of some slight that had been handed to her by a careless word or turn of phrase. As it was, he didn't like the look the corrupted druid shot the woman.

"That one would be best suited to stay here and guard the forest from... that." Rylien gestured to the slumbering goblin, her lips pulled in a sneer. "You know my tolerance for those who wound the forest, Lydros. That thing is only one of many who have taken axe and saw to the mighty trees we fight to protect. You should be ashamed for calling to me with one in my presence."

"I called you as a favor to the Circle, Rylien. You were there when I stumbled from the grove in Feralas. I need your aid with the ones who are inside there now, if it comes to that." His voice was a plea, and he was not ashamed of it. "Two of those in there fought for the Tree, and another has embraced nature as her calling. They are like you, if not in body then at least in spirit."

"Spirits are for shaman and witchdoctors, Lydros. I deal with neither of them when I can help it." Her eyes flashed and closed, pale fingers reaching for the white fur of her mate. He moved, standing beside her and releasing a deep growl. Terlon was not prone to talking to those he did not see fit to speak to, and Lydros had never heard his voice before. Nor had he heard the voice of the little one, but the three did not need voices to speak to each other, and it was clear that they were doing so now. Time passed, enough time for Winnie to shift impatiently, and finally Rylien spoke again. "I will not go in there. Even this close, I can feel the Nightmare call and try to catch me. You will be alone in this, until you find her."

Her tone and look softened, a sigh escaping her. "You know the truth of it all, Lydros. What is there is nothing more than illusion and lies, your nightmares come to life. Don't let them touch you, don't let them lead you astray. Be ready to kill if you must... there is nothing in there worth protecting."

"Except those I seek." He was glad his correction did not draw her ire. It only brought the flicker of an amused smile to her lips as she made to turn away.

"Indeed. Except those you seek. Pray to those you must that they are well and strong, Lydros. If they are not, you may have to kill them as well." She paused in her turning, her eyes spotting something in the grass near the dwarven woman. "Take that with you. The packs, goblin and dwarf will remain safe with us. That blade belongs with the one who holds it."

Lydros nodded, turning back and catching the weapon as it was tossed by Winnie. By the look on her face, she was not pleased with the prospect of staying behind with anyone, but she said nothing on it. Instead, she settled herself down to wait with arms folded over her chest and eyes set towards the sky. Their well-wishes were silent, but present all the same. With a low whistle to call Shade from where he rest, the hunter turned to walk through the arch and into the grove...

… He stepped exactly where he knew he would. Before him stretched the boughs of Nordrassil, the Well of Eternity glinting beneath it's roots from where he stood on a pathway that overlooked the small building that had been erected. A bridge was not far, and he had no need to look to know who it was that approached him in the same manner she had for several years in reality and in dreams.

She walked with the grace of a woman used to traveling silently and carefully, her dark hair unbound and flowing behind her in the breeze that brought the scent of flowers and water to his senses. Longswords glinted at her sides, light reflecting off of the polished metal and catching the poison that glazed over their surface. She was beauty and death incarnate, mixed and thrown at him from the shadows where they had first met in the woods. She was his only love; his Irial.

While his heart yearned to reach out to her, commanded that he embrace her as he had done so many times before, this time he turned his head away and walked down the path. Her voice filtered to him, soft and pleading, want stretched in the words in the same tones that had been taken when he had made her his as forcefully as the very beasts he watched over mated. Her love had been one that needed a firm grip and gentle words, so prone to becoming out of control in the heat of the moment.

They had loved so dearly, and she had looked as she did now when she came to him here. When she had told him that they would be together, that she accepted his desires to be mates for eternity. When she had told him of the child that grew within her. Lydros had known true joy that day on the path he now walked again. How fitting it was then, that the same place that had been witness to such joy was also the one that bore witness to such pain.

Irial had never been found after the fight for Nordrassil. Her laugh faded from his ears until it resided only here in his dreams, the one place he could be with her and their child for all eternity. They had tried to tempt him with such things before, but he had still been in pain then. He had still been mourning, still hoping that she was alive and well and here was the place that he would meet her again.

He didn't want to say the words he knew he must. Didn't want to refute the world that was so warm and welcoming, didn't want to stop her voice with his own. It turned his heart cold that they still tried to catch him with this dream that was also a nightmare. His steps passed the bridge, and he thought he heard anger in her voice. She still called for him, her tone wheedling and persuasive. That tone had been his downfall so many times, her eyes lighting with laughter as she got what she wanted every time she used it.

Halfway down the road, he finally turned to face her. She was no longer beautiful, as he knew she would not be. His Irial was gone, perhaps not dead at all but still simply not here. Years had passed, and he had grudgingly been forced to accept that she was not coming home. His bed would remain empty, his heart would remain cold. Now she stood before him, her body too thin to be that of hers. The illusion was fading, as much as he was loathe to let it go. "You are not Irial."

There was no sound but his own breath for a time, and then all faded from his sight. Hyjal ceased to exist, and with it went all images of his love. Now he was amidst the grove that he had entered, the grass thick beneath his feet and covered with a layer of ethereal fog. In the distance, he heard chittering. Something large moved through the trees, trees bedecked with gossamer webs that held bones strewn inside them. But his focus had gone elsewhere, to a figure that sat seemingly alone amidst a scattering of bones and foliage that had long since died.

Her eyes were closed, but they had long been as such. White hair spilled around her heart-shaped face to fall over her chest, and behind her it curled in the grass. If she stood, it would graze her bare ankles. Her body was clothed in garments of green, long robes of silk that were simple in design. She wore no jewelry or trinkets save for two that bore deep meaning for her. In her hair was a crescent moon hairpin, one long and fine chain that draped beneath it was curled around the back of her head and pinned opposite the ornament. The second was a pendant about her slender neck that held a tiny scale of her patron.

Nireesa was loyal to the green Dragonflight and their leader with the entirety of her body and soul. Once a beloved Priestess of Elune, she had shirked the possibility of being High Priestess and had accepted the offer of a dragon that she had long outlived. While most of those who served the flight were druids, Nireesa had dedicated herself after her mate had lost his mind within the Emerald Dream. Her skills were great, her desires pure... and so she had become Dragonsworn, and her attentions were devoted to these corrupted glens. As the eyes and ears of the Dreamer's flight, she had gained power that most of the younger races thirsted for.

She was not the only one he knew of. Years before, many had spoken to a Dragonsworn in the service of Nozdormu himself when the threats that lingered behind the walls of Ahn'Quiraj came to light once more. Ordinary people called as heroes to fight another war that had begun anew on those dry sands. It was interesting to see what the world never seemed to notice, especially since the flights had slowly begun to take more and more Dragonsworn. Nireesa simply happened to be the most powerful he could recall having much contact with.

"They are not here, child." Nireesa's voice came within his mind, overcoming the barriers he had thrown up to protect himself from the magic that the druids let linger here. "I have found only this one, and she is in need of my help more than they who passed by me not long ago." Her robes shifted, her seating changing and drawing his attention to the grass in front of her. "I was lucky to have found her. I did so only by hearing her cry for help, that I'm not certain she even knew she threw out. They have been lingering near, drawing out her torment to sate themselves. If I leave her, they will finish her and your journey will be for nothing."

Weeds and other fauna had begun to grow over the slender figure who rested with her head in the Dragonsworn's lap. Her hair was a stark contrast to the green, but it was all that could be seen easily. Her pale skin was tinged green in the light, though he had a nagging feeling that the twisted plants were attempting to find purchase on her body and use her for food. They would have that chance, if she died here. Lydros grunted in understanding; he was willing to bet that the slumbering woman was the one Kalthor had gone after, though she looked much different than she had those years ago at Hyjal. There would be better times to think on that.

"Indeed." Nireesa's lips pulled in a smile, her hands sliding along the jaw of the red-head while her head turned to look into the thickly wooded trees. "They passed by, caught in the Nightmare. This one did not make it far, driven by her emotions. She was easy prey for them, and has been here many days. If we can wake her, she can aid us in freeing the others. You will need that aid, child. Many times I have tried to clear this place of their taint, and I have failed. In the time I spent elsewhere, one of them has grown greatly in power. They call her Dreamwarper, and she is very close."

Though her eyes were closed and could not see him as he could see, Lydros knew she watched him as those of her patron flight did. It unsettled him, to be watched and not know where the eyes themselves pointed. "I have her weapon here," his hand reached back over his shoulder, tapping the hilt of the ornate two-hander. "I am far behind in practice, but I will do all that I can to defend you while you work. If it is needed."

"Good." The woman smiled again, her fingers brushing along the delicate features of the other. "Their domain is in madness and the mind. I will give you what protection I can, but I cannot attack. You must be my shield. Do not fall." There was a flutter behind her, and Lydros saw the shadow of wings spreading behind her to arc over the three of them. Incorporeal, they were the greatest gift to a Dragonsworn, and Nireesa's symbol to those who would attack of her own power. Only the most powerful were granted the gift of flight, so that they could take wing with their patron. Her body bent, pressing her forehead to the other woman's own and then went still but for the movement of her breath.

Lydros watched for a moment and then turned on his heel, meeting the renewed and angered chittering of vermin with a grin that could only be described as manic. "Come, twisted little things. I have business with you."


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Moving On

_**AN:** Lots of mental stuff here. There's only one way to go, Tria!_

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Time shifts, has a way of toying with even the most stout-hearted people there might be. Triadae, for all of her nonchalance and aloofness, was not always strong. Time had passed and helped her build walls around her heart, blocking off emotions behind a sheet of ice miles thick... but it had never made her a strong person. Time had passed, and she knew that what she chased wasn't real.

Triadae knew her sister was dead, knew the mocking voice was nothing more than a lingering remnant that refused to let her go. Guilt and pain became a weapon to be used against her, stronger than anything she could ever hope to wield against another person. The world believed that Triadae had no heart, but that was all a lie. If she had never had a heart, she never would have been hurt so badly. She never would have cried or screamed when everything crashed around her.

Even with all that she knew and believed, she never stopped chasing that voice. Deep in her heart, she blamed herself for everything that had happened. If she had been better, then no one would have been hurt. If she had paid attention to her sibling, she never would have felt that tearing Triadae's life down around her ears was the most important thing in the world. If Tria had simply been there when she was needed...

If. Always that word, always that phrase. _If_ only she had done this, or that. _If_ the things she had done had been something else. Triadae had come to learn that the world existed in that simple world, that all the pain and agony a person could feel was regulated simply by an _if_. As time had passed, she had learned to hate that word and any phrase that came with it. They represented weakness to her.

So all of her thoughts of _if _became promises of 'when.' _When_ she found peace, it would be alone. _When_ she laughed, it would be at herself. _When_ she felt joy, it would be only because she had done something to gain it. 'When' was a promise to herself, so that when she knew her life had gone to an end, she was prepared to say that she had done the best she was able with what she had been given.

Triadae didn't remember anything of nearly sleeping with Kalthor. The night was a blank. Should she be honest with anyone who cared to ask, Triadae couldn't remember anything from her weeks on the zepplin either. All that she remembered was waking up to laughter. Cold, mocking laughter that had led her out of the city astride her hawkstrider. Miralai always rode ahead of her, always so close and yet so far. It never occurred to her to look for Kalthor, it was as if he had never existed in her mind.

She had barely noticed as the scenery had changed around her, blending from the savannah-like Durotar to the lush Ashenvale. Her mind hadn't comprehended the danger of rushing into enemy territory, she hadn't thought of how vastly the world had changed, never even noticed how far the orcs and trolls had pushed into the forests and made them new to her. Triadae had passed through these places once, and only once, before. She never thought she'd be running through them again after a phantasm that lingered.

Her travel became difficult only when her hawkstrider managed to throw her, not far from the grove. Ensnared by the haunting laugh of Miralai, she hadn't even cared as she dusted herself off and continued on by foot. Walking, then running, then full on sprinting in armor that should have been heavy enough to keep her slowed down. She was pushing herself, sustained only by adrenaline that fueled her body and kept her going long after her normal stamina had worn out.

Thus she had entered the grove. Not content to walk around and find an entry, she had barged through the wall and suffered raking twigs and limbs across her bare skin; her face and arms were scored quickly, and she did little more than shrug her beloved sword from her shoulders when it became caught up on something. Triadae was so close to her sister's voice, so close she could swear that if she reached out only a bit more than her natural arm's length, she would grasp the girl's hair.

Instead, she broke into a memory that shook her to her very core. Despite her lack of awareness, she couldn't recall the frigid temperature that would have heralded her journey to the place she was now. Kyuzaku had long been released from her service, the woman never relying on the dragon when she no longer had the desire to fly. It was foolish to keep him with her when she wouldn't accept his help. So she had sent him away, but she would have noticed mounting him and feeling his hide between her legs. It was something she could never forget.

Yet here she stood with her body shivering, breath appearing before her eyes and fading again as she sucked it in between her teeth. The cold was believable, permeating the armor meant only for ease of movement and not defense and warmth. Despite how cold she was, she refused to grasp her arms and rub. Half of her cried out that her surroundings were some kind of trick, the other half laughing and asking her if it really mattered.

It didn't. Triadae stood atop one of the twisted metal gates that led out from the bastion of Icecrown Citadel. Below her, amidst the swirling mist, she could see the endless dance of combat on the ground. The blood of the living stained the bones of the dead, splattered against the metal of gates, the stone of hills, and the weapons of those who attacked and those who defended. She knew in her heart that there was a reason she was up on this gate, the fallen corpses of abominations and gigantic skeletons scattered about her in a death-riddled path that led to her.

A breeze from behind, laced with the smell of life and joy from Crystalsong, blew her hair around her. It snapped against her face and forced her to close her eyes until it died, lest it strike and cause her to miss a thing. There was nothing to miss, nothing to forget. Triadae knew exactly where she was, though she didn't know how she had gotten there. For years she had heard the laughing voice of her sister, but it had only been months since she had truly begun to haunt her.

Only months since this very moment. Dream, reality, or illusion... she was content to remain right where she was. Right where she would find answers, if only in her mind. Answers that she needed to have before she could truly move on, if that was even possible. Triadae's arms spread wide, her palms facing upwards and then clenching. Her eyes closed as she tipped her head back, let the sounds of dying surround her and strengthen her resolve for what needed to be done.

Others had invaded the Citadel and failed. Others had fallen on the very ground beneath her and were brought back to be turned on family and friends. Still more were steadily marching on, aiming for the man who had thrown so many of them out of comfort and happiness. She wanted no part of it, wanted no part of slaying the Death Knight who spurred her people to their corruption. Even then, he wasn't the cause.

Her only duty lay up here on the gate, waiting for her. Or perhaps she was the one waiting, this time. No matter which it was, she didn't have to wait long. She heard the steps of heavy-plated feet long before she would have seen their owner, even with her eyes open. Steady and menacing, each footfall made her own heart beat out of time, as if trying to fill the space with warm comfort.

When the steps at last reached her and stopped, and the slight shuffle of heavy material on stone replaced it but for a moment, still she did not open her eyes. There were no mumbled prayers, no idle words. Only the bloodshed beneath them and the cries of the Frostbrood above them. Triadae realized that she didn't want to speak and break the spell that lay between them, the small blessing where they remained at a mutual loss for what might be the proper way to continue past this point. It almost made her laugh; considering the feelings of the dead.

"You're a fool for coming unarmed, elder sister." Miralai's voice was rich but empty, echoing in the mind of the one she spoke to. She made no move to attack when Triadae opened her eyes and turned her head, leveling an even gaze on the woman who had caused her so much pain.

In the thick and heavy armor that she wore, Miralai had finally managed to be taller than the warrior. The black and blue-runed plate fit her snugly, and there was no need for warmth for her. The younger woman's eyes had long since lost their fel-green glow, and had become that same cold blue that every risen knight who served Arthas had gained. The hair that had once been red was now a ghastly white, and her skin had blackened with gangrene. If there was beauty left in the woman, it would have to be found within... it was clear that Miralai was a soldier made for battle, and she had reveled in her near immunity to death.

"I didn't come to fight, sister-mine." Triadae kept her own voice empty of all emotion, looking away from the servant of Arthas and back to the canvas of combat that spread out beneath them. "You're already dead, a thousand times over. I've come only for answers, and only for peace." Her ears twitched at the raspy laughter that left her sister, but she made no other move.

Miralai let her amusement be known, both in her laughing tone and the crooked grin that she wore. Her fingers clenched and released, as if itching to grasp the rune-laden sword strapped to her back and run the living woman through. Instead, it was so much more pleasing to watch her sibling attempt to keep a straight face. "There's no peace for those like you, though. Those who have taken the blood of family and friends, those who have wounded the ones they love so much deeper than a sword could ever hope to do so." She saw the warrior's jaw clench, and her grin grew. "You're as damned as I."

Triadae let the silence grow between them, until at last she had calmed herself. "Perhaps I am, and if it does turn out that I am as damned as you, then I will accept that. However, that makes me nothing like you. My only act of malice towards you was never being the family I should have been."

"You think that I'll accept something like that as an apology? I'm dead, elder sister." The death knight moved closer, her cloak shifting along the ground behind her as she circled around the back of her sibling. She enjoyed the shudder that went down the red-head's back when she leaned close, expelling a foul breath. "So are you, or you may as well be. Foolish, foolish woman. You ran into a place that will never let you go, that you will never be able to escape from. It will be so good to watch you die, sister."

To this, Triadae allowed a smile to cross her lips, and her eyes to flick sidelong and rest on the knight. "We will see, Miralai. Of that, we will see. I killed you once and banished you to where you could only touch me by way of my own guilt. It should be nothing at all to kill you again, barehanded if I must."

Miralai laughed, spinning on her heel and tilting her head back to make the sound echo beyond them. "You are weaponless! You are pathetic and small compared to me, who has embraced death and mocked you from across the grave. Even burning my body did not remove me from your memory -"

"Because I put you there, Miralai. Willingly, I put you where you deserved to be. Regardless of all that you did to me, no matter how much pain you inflicted on me, you are still famil -"

"Family! Do you think I cared when I raised our father as my first undead servant? Oh, he served his purpose well enough. Keeping me from harm as he had in life. No, Triadae. You and the others abandoned me and cared little as to my fate. Don't lie to yourself," her lips were at her sister's ear again, practically a coo. "You loved thinking that I was dead. It only disgusted you when you discovered I was not, and that I had become a thousand times more powerful than you."

Triadae did not move, but she didn't fight the truth. "Yes, you're right. I breathed a sigh of relief when your death was recorded amongst the Argent Dawn's ranks. I questioned them when your body was never marked as having been burned or given the graces it deserved, and I felt disgust when I saw you at the front of the armies that killed thousands of men and women." Her voice hardened. "It never once meant that I didn't regard you as family." A phlegm-ridden laugh rang beside her ear, until her sister drew away.

"You've grown weak in these years, sweet sister. I wonder what it was that made you such a sickeningly pathetic woman, to believe that family matters in these times. Power matters, Triadae. Power, and who you can bend to your own will. My master knew the truth of it all..."

"Yet he is dead as well, felled by those who you would also call weak. What is power, when it leads only to your downfall?" Triadae turned, arms folding over her chest as she watched the metal-clad woman pace. "What did power ever give you that it never gave to me? Wealth? Fame? I abhor both of them."

"Oh, yes." Miralai's grin grew wicked, and she shot her sister a look over her shoulder that put the woman on edge. "You were always so good, so faithful. Your name was sung in the halls when you were nothing more than a lowly acolyte among the priestesses, and then it was hailed among the Blood Knights when you scaled their ranks. You'd know nothing of fame or wealth, would you? Perhaps that is where you failed.

If you cared nothing for fame, it would not have stung so deeply when those who once adored you turned their backs on you. One by one, they distanced themselves when you lost the Light." Miralai laughed again. "Even the Light turned on you, forsaking you when you needed it most! Yes, you were nothing then as you are now. Still alone, still without love."

"You pulled him astray, Miralai." Triadae's tone had gone cold, almost bitter.

"Did I? You've never believed that." The death knight circled her sister, arms crossed over her chest as eyes bored into the warrior's own. Miralai looked away first.

"Not at first. Not when it all started. He was the same as any other man, and I had my doubts about his innocence." Triadae stared the knight down for a few moments more before looking away. "Then I remembered the type of person you were. How easy it was for people to fall for your charms, and how you'd pull them down violently if you didn't get what you wanted from them. But you never expected the child, did you? Your getting pregnant was an unforseen mistake."

Miralai made a sound that reminded Triadae of people who were agreeing to something while trapped in their own thoughts, and the dark chuckle only made her skin crawl. "Yes, the baby was an accident. A perfect accident, that could be used perfectly against you. The way you stormed away from your beloved... it was brilliant. I took you off your lofty perch and ran you down with the ones who meant the most to you.

It all could have been avoided, you know. If you had shown affection to anyone at all, or if you had even listened to those who warned you..." Miralai seemed to strut away from her sister, flicking her hand over her shoulder. "So easy to bring all the other boys to my bed, but I had to really work with Tiroth. It was over when he drank the first cup of wine, laced with a potent drug."

Triadae wasn't sure how her sister moved so quickly, going from ten feet in front of her to just behind her, hands on her shoulders and whispering in her ear of all the things that they had done that night in the very bed that Tiroth and she would share when they were bound. Warmth suffused her, the warmth of anger and resentment, and still she fought back against it in hopes that she would not rise to the bait laid out by her flesh and blood. Triadae would not fall that far. When it failed to rile her, Miralai twisted the knife she had thrust into Triadae's heart all those years ago.

"You know, even when he was spent... he was calling for you."

Miralai staggered under the single attack, her eyes flashing brilliant cobalt in triumph as her hand went to her mouth. Ichor appeared, blood long drained from the animated corpse that she called a body, and pain wasn't even an issue. She hadn't felt pain since her death, but she could comprehend shock. Something that came easily when the single strike of fist against her jaw seemed to only break the dam, and she was put on the defensive.

Triadae had not been born strong. Pride had shaped her life as the daughter of powerful arcanists, becoming a channeler of the Light. Pride in her people had given her the power to tend to wounds that turned even the most seasoned healers away. Pride had led her to choose only the best for herself, only the best to continue the bloodline that had survived so much and never fallen.

Pride had been her downfall, becoming self-loathing and doubt. If she was not good enough to keep the eyes of one, how could she ever hope to lead the rest into combat, where they might never return from? How could she live up to the expectations of her parents, who surely watched her from someplace better? If she could not control the actions of someone as easy to read as her sister, how could she stand among the defenders of her beloved city, promise those who looked up to her and others to keep them safe in their beds and their lives intact, and expect them to believe her?

Triadae had not been born strong – she had simply become that way.

Her motions were quick and fluid, leading her corrupted brethren in a dance of the macabre. Never once did the woman let Miralai reach for her sword, sure that if she became armed, she would fail everything. The pieces of her that had fallen apart were burning hot within her; rage had become her power, and it was the thread of sanity now pulling her back together. Thousands of things that had never been said had been screamed to the sky over time, and was only just falling back on her ears.

_Some people could never be helped, and to try was to beat our heads against a wall._

Triadae's foot slammed into Miralai's midsection with enough force to propel the knight off her feet to the stone. This time, she let her pull her weapon, met the glare that promised death, and then grinned.

_She never had to go this far._

The runeblade swung over her head as she ducked, darting close to scratch nails up the face of her opponent and whirl out of reach as the blade came back to defend and then lash out again. Half-blinded, Miralai growled with rage.

_We mourned her when we thought she was dead._

The blade nicked skin, flaring pain up her arm as plague attempted to wind itself into her body and slow her down. Triadae fought back against it, shoving the pain away from her to land another sharp kick to the joint of Miralai's gloves. The sickening snap was audible even over their heavy breathing.

_Everything I had, so did she._

The blade dropped to the stone, Miralai's hand hanging oddly at her side. Triadae knew she felt no pain, but she had not expected to be disarmed so quickly and effortlessly. They launched at each other again in a flurry of blows, knocking themselves to the ground to enter a grappling match that was childish for the place they were in, and yet fit so perfectly that Triadae never felt shame for it. Down to the last, closer than they had ever been before, more personal than the blades and spells that had been the battle before this all.

Hours passed in only seconds, breaking away to meet again in a clash of metal and flesh, blood and ichor, and then all of a sudden it was over. Battered and broken, bleeding from a thousand cuts that she never remembered being dealt and riddled with the poison of sickness and filth, Triadae emerged victorious. She staggered from the unmoving corpse, wincing as rain began to fall.

_I never stopped believing she might come home. I never wanted to believe that she was dead in spirit long before her body fell._

Triadae turned back to the body, watching it shift and change before her. White turned red, blacks turned silver, runes turned from necromantic to holy sigils... and she smiled. Triadae knew better than to believe that her sister had suffered a change of heart at that last moment, and she understood then what she had truly been seeking.

For the first time in many months, peace flooded the woman and bound the stitched pieces of her shattered soul with a new form of faith that didn't die as the illusion in front of her started to fade. Miralai had been beyond saving... Triadae had only been walking the right path with a blindfold over her eyes.

She screamed then, a sound that rose until it could go no higher. It was filled with joy that she would never find the words to explain, would never know the feeling again once she left this haunted place that no longer frightened her or asked her to stay. With the scream went an unheard plea, spoken not with her voice but with her heart. As the scenery began to crack and fray around her, the gates crashing down to smother the endlessly battling groups below, working towards where she stood with quickening speed, Triadae sent out a silent call for help.

Her footing became unsteady, the cracks reaching her and taking the ground out from under her. The sense of falling hit, that odd lurch of all of her insides trying to escape out the top of her body, and then it was gone as soon as it came. Fingers meshed with hers, invisible and yet as real and warm as the touch of family and friends. Triadae was aware of a presence she couldn't see, wrapping her in a cloak of affection and pride as the scenery faded completely and became something that she had never seen before.

The Emerald Dream spread out underneath her, blazing by around her so fast that she couldn't tell if what she had passed was simply a tree or a green-mossed giant. The land became strangely familiar, and then became completely strange, and then repeated the same countless more times before the travel seemed to slow down and the warm embrace around her faded and the world went black.

Something shifted above her, and she opened her eyes to find herself face to face with someone who was looking right at her and yet not looking at all. Slowly, life seemed to be coming back to drained limbs, and she looked away to watched vines and brush twisting away from her as if she had suddenly turned to hot flame. Strength spilled into her, wounds that had opened on her skin closing again, and when Triadae looked back up at the person above her, she saw the gossamer wings that spanned the air above them.

There were no words between them, and she looked away again only as a grunt of pain rang nearby. All at once, she smelled blood and felt the sense of wrongness that flooded the area. Cat-quick, she was on her feet and scrambling for the very familiar weapon laying just feet away. No questions asked, Triadae turned to meet what she perceived as a foe.

It loomed above her, chittering darkly and then cowering away to melt away into a dark-skinned elven figure that vanished. Her confusion compounded itself when the rest of them, ethereal figures that took the forms of spiders and scorpions the size of a man only to vanish as quickly as the first had done. Around them were the hacked corpses of others that had been felled. Her blood ceased to boil, adrenaline fading, and she sheathed her weapon.

"Too easy..."

The voice came from behind, and she reeled around only to see a figure that rang in her memory only dimly. Lithe and tall, the man staggered forward a step and then fell to one knee, holding his side. In a swish of fabric, the woman who had been leaning over her passed by and took the man by the arm. Colors pulsed on her hands, silver-green and rainbow speckled... the same color of the mist that was quickly growing thicker around them.

"Only once I had brought her back."

Triadae jumped, not used to the odd voice inside of her mind. She watched as the wounds on the man sealed and faded, and he straightened with a careful eye aimed on her. Wary and untrusting, he watched her as if expecting her to jump at him and claw his face to pieces.

"We have no time. Come."

The green-clothed woman passed by her again, and then the Kaldorei male followed her. Hesitant at first, wanting to ask a thousand questions that seemed to never want to be asked, Triadae cast her eyes back at the place she had been laying, and felt a chill run up her spine. Hesitancy faded, and she turned on her heel to follow them deeper into the web-riddled grove.

The mist grew thicker, and followed as well...


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Release

They found Kalthor easily, sprawled on his face in the thick grass that had yet to try and grow over him and consume him in the physical world as his dreams threatened to do so on the mental realm. Bringing him from the depths of his nightmares was easier than it should have been, and no one knew if it was simply because he refused to believe what he saw, or wanted to believe Nireesa's gentle and firm promises that wound around his mind deep within his dreams.

Only Triadae felt slighted when her friend came out of it. Kalthor refused to meet her eyes, refused to take her hand to help him stand, and every bit of him gave off the feeling that he truly didn't want her present. It stung her, twisted an invisible dagger deeper into her healing heart, but she gave him the space that he seemed to want and spoke nothing to him.

Finding Brinella was something else entirely, and even the Dragonsworn had a difficult time of it. The area was warping, throwing those who lingered into disarray, much to the amusement of those who were now flocking the trees and adding their chitters and laughter to the frustrated grunts of the hunter and his companions. More than once they were forced to pause and clear their minds of the lies that had started to take root there. Only Nireesa remained immune to the effects that their adversaries were determined to throw at them, and it was she who had the most difficulty of all.

It was Triadae who found the worgen woman, suspended from the branches in a cradle of vines bearing lethal looking thorns. Only luck had guided her eyes, exasperated as Kalthor and Lydros began arguing yet again, and her gaze had rolled upwards to the tangle of growth that seemed oddly shaped for the area. Not wanting to speak, knowing quite well that there would be little use with the men all but yelling now, she dared to touch the arm of the Kaldorei woman, pointing upwards.

They might have disregarded the shape as one of many who had long since perished in the corrupted glen, if it were not for the soft whimpers that fed themselves out from the constricting vines. Blood could be seen on the flora, leaking from between the netting that cradled the worgen, and the vines themselves pulsed as if beating with hearts of their own. The more pained their victim sounded, the deeper they drank. Triadae swallowed back bile and the urge to flee, her hand gripping the hilt of her gilded blade.

The slide of the sword out from the sheath that held it caught the attention of both men, and they both paused in their argument as if they would turn their words on her for being so foolish. Instead, they watched as the slight warrior braced the hilt of her weapon against her wrist, enabling her enough force to hack at one of the vines that seemed to be holding the entire thing aloft.

It burst like a ripe fruit, spewing ooze and writhing away from its fellows. Again she hacked at the net, and was forced to stop as another load of the pungent liquid fell upon her and, with a cracking snap, let free the worgen to collapse to the ground where she remained lifeless, save for the wolf-whimpers that left her muzzle. Having never seen a worgen herself, Triadae wasn't sure if this was another enemy or something to be pitied. The ooze that stained her clothes and skin itched, and she bit back a scream when she looked and found tiny spiderlings crawling along her body.

"Illusion. Just an illusion." Nireesa's calming voice rang in her mind, and hers alone. Her frightened breaths would not die, but the soothing mental touch that the Dragonsworn had wrapped around their minds to guard them from the worst of what they would discover slowly tightened, and gave her the strength to look again. Sap. It was only sap, colored dark with blood. It stuck to her, rolling into the joints of her armor like a dirty honey, but it was only sap. She managed a whispered thanks, her fel-green eyes falling away in shame.

"This child is tangled deeply," her voice echoed in their minds, carrying a sadness with it that one might reserve for a dying friend. "It may be too late for her, I cannot tell."

"Try." Lydros' voice was thick with something, his eyes going from the barely breathing woman to the Dragonsworn. "Even if it is too late, don't let a moment go by where we cannot say we didn't try."

Nireesa held his gaze with her ever-closed eyes, then nodded once. The sound of her gown trailing in the grass died as she knelt next to Brinella, her fingers hovering over bloodied fur. A soft glow, silver and emerald, touched on Brinella's cuts and punctures, the marks where the grove had already begun to feast on her, content that she was subdued. They sealed, and Lydros turned away.

He didn't want to watch if Nireesa should fail.

* * *

Brinella had long since left the site where she had mourned the man she loved. The corpse had faded from her mind as soon as she had seen the great shape of her beloved stalking the shadows outside her sight. Joy had suffused her, casting aside the head that never touched the ground as she ran after the figure. White amongst the dark, he had come into her sight and then turned from her to run, always staying out of her reach. Twice she fell, and he did not turn back to wait for her as he had in Gilneas.

She followed, feeling the pricks of doubt in her mind that washed away once more when he'd glance behind him to view her, and all of her hope would come rushing back again. Not once did she notice the darkness fade to familiar surroundings, not until she had fallen once more and realized that it was a child she had stumbled over. A bright-eyed boy, with hair the color of chocolate and eyes of a summer sky. Her surprise was compounded as the toddler launched himself at her, laughing as he wrapped arms around her and rested against her lightly rounded stomach.

"I foun' ya, Momma!"

_Momma? _The word rang in her mind, and she formed the question in her mind only to have it dashed away as strong arms wrapped beneath her, lifting her to her feet. Out of habit, her arms wrapped around the boy as her head tilted back to meet the ice-blue of the one who watched her.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, love." His head lowered, brushing his cheek against hers in warm welcome, breath hot on her neck. "Have you been dreaming again?" A hand reached further, tousling the dark locks of the boy who clung to her. "Come, Gregory. Your mother needs her rest. Why don't you go play with your cousins?"

Gregory released Brinella, and she let him slide down her chest and then let go as his feet touched the ground. Like the wind itself, he sprinted off, laughing happily as other children appeared to rough house with him. Her brows lifted in surprise as something moved within her, and she dropped her gaze to her stomach. Cor seemed to take her surprise in stride, his hands resting over her own wandering ones and gently pressing them between his palms and her stomach.

"Is the wonder so much, even now? You bore Gregory with little trouble. Yet you act like you've never had a child before..." His voice was low against her ear, pressing his chest against her back as his hands left her stomach and wrapped strong arms around her chest. "Always such a dreamer, my little swallow. What were you dreaming of this time, I wonder?"

"I dreamed..." Her words caught in her throat, uncertainty blooming inside of her and twisting like a trapped serpent. Wasn't this a dream? Or had everything else been an awful nightmare? "That we were attacked, and I was left alone. You became a giant white cat who guided me from a sinking home..."

He laughed, nuzzling against her cheek and placing a kiss there before he drew away, his fingers wound in her own. "A cat? The wall is sturdy and safe, and the harbor clear. We've never been attacked, not since our civil war. Crowley and his men are still locked away, and we know peace under Greymane. Sometimes I wonder if you live in a different world, 'ella." He tugged her hand, breaking her from her reverie and turning her attention instead to the town they walked through.

As they walked, she thought hard about changing. Nothing happened, her human form not sprouting fur or fangs, no trace of nature ringing in her ears. Her mind flew out, calling for the names of those whose faces lingered in her memories, but they were little more than a dream, and quickly slipping away. Cor's hand was warm, the press of him against her so vivid in her mind, the tumble of a new life growing within her so oddly calming, that those faces she couldn't put names to seemed the dream.

Her pulse quickened as he guided her to their home, a farmstead that had been built with such care that it was clear there was nothing but love between those who lived there. A garden offered roses that twined up and over the door, a large tree gave of apples that fairly glowed with their help, and all of these things seemed to calm her racing heart. Home. This was all home, and all that she had ever wanted. All that Cor had ever promised her...

"_Gilneas fell, Brinella."_

"What?" She paused, her fingers flexing in his grip. "I thought that..." Her voice died when she realized he hadn't spoken, that his husky tone could never be the soothing voice that she had heard speak in her mind. Cor was many things, but not a woman. When he turned to regard her with a questioning glance, she simply shook her head and smiled.

… and so the months passed. Time lost all meaning for her, lost as she was in the dream that she clung to as reality. Moments that passed outside her mind meant nothing, never realizing that the more she accepted Cor's arms around her, the more tangled in the corruption she began. His kiss masked the prick of thorns burying into her skin, his touch enflamed her past recognizing pain. Day by day she fell to her dream, doing more damage to her body than time could ever hope to.

The mysterious voice called to her in that rapid time, trying sense and then pleas when she refused to listen. A whisper in her mind while she plucked herbs for dinner, a cry in the night as she lay entwined with the man she loved. Always, she remembered the touch of her love on her skin, and secured the dream as her place. No matter what she was hearing, this was the truth. Gilneas had never fallen. Her father had never died. Adeline visited daily with her daughter, and there was laughter and joy.

All that was peace to her, she clung to. All that had happened, what she couldn't clearly remember at all? It was nothing more than a bad dream, washed away time and time again. She could think on it, and it would run from her like water through a sieve. So she let it go, pushed the silly voice away, and settled in her life.

Until the voice refused to be rejected any longer. Brinella felt winter coming, and with it began the illusions of something at the corner of her vision. It never appeared when she looked for long periods of time, and Cor questioned more than once why she was staring into the hearth, or off at the ceiling. Never could she explain what she saw or felt, only that it was the voice he refused to believe was real. No longer could she move easily; she was sure it was two she carried in her womb, and the thought calmed her and much as it frightened her.

They had begun to move more often, barely resting before assaulting her again and making her wary of moving at all. Gregory found the actions funny, happy to rest his hands on her swollen belly and feel the tiny feet within kick at him. Even Cor watched her with naught but love and pride, kissing her temple with hands folded over her stomach. Their love made her content, but the ever watching presence she couldn't pin put her on edge.

It was dawn on the morning of the first frost when she saw it completely, out the window. The scene seemed to ripple and warp, pucker and then give birth to something that stood as if feeling the ground beneath its feet. It happened so quickly that she was sure that it was only a figment of her imagination, but the result of it was still right there in front of her eyes. She had seen such things in books, heard of them from the mouths of storytellers, but never had she seen something so beautiful and so deadly all at once.

At first glance, it was a serpent twice her length. Half of it coiled, the rest stretched upwards. The head of it was not snake-like as she knew it to be, however. Reptilian, perhaps... but it drew to mind the structure of a turtle instead of a snake. A fan of feathers adorned the head where ears might have been, and a crest lay flat against the skull of it. Brinella set aside the bread she had been kneading, slipping to the window to see it more clearly.

It was an ethereal thing in beauty. The savage look of it was tempered by the fact it looked almost perfectly carved from green glass. Sunlight rippled over emerald scales, and caught in the hazy, barely present wings that stretched from its back. While she watched it, entranced by the way it swayed in the light, she realized it watched her with eyes that remained closed. A chill ran up her spine again as the voice entered her mind, pushing as a snake might against the door to her innermost self. It called to her, by name and by blood, and then the beast and voice pushed away from her, into the sky.

Brinella looked to the stairs, knowing that Cor and her son would be awake in moments, but she could no longer hold back her desire to keep the voice at bay. The creature had struck her with its beauty, and there was something in the way it looked at her that made her feel remorse, pity, and contempt for the world she lived in. It knew something she did not, and she couldn't tolerate it any longer.

She grabbed her cloak from beside the door and slipped out, shivering in the cold even beneath the thick fabric. Walking was a pain, and it took her a few moments to find the figure, but find it she did. It curled and coiled in the air, dipping into dazzling displays while waiting for her. So she followed, laboring after it with her breath hitching and causing her pain in her side. Yet still she walked, out of the city and up into the hills that the winged serpent guided her to.

The sun was above the trees by the time the beast fluttered back to land, stirring through the undergrowth that Brinella herself had to pull herself through step by agonizing step. The hills offered her the sight of her town, and something sparked in the back of her mind, something familiar that choked her and brought terror forward.

"_Gilneas has fallen, Brinella."_

The serpent curled around the nearby rocks, watching her with eyes that were closed. She longed to step closer, to touch the skin that seemed to glisten with thousands of tiny gems, the wings made of smoke and glass, but her feet were glued to the spot as the children she carried within her kicked again. This time it hurt, an uncomfortable jab to her already sore being. "No... they said..."

And then the world heaved beneath her, a crack echoing through the day and sending her sprawling. It had come as soon as the doubt clawed back at her, as soon as something had felt so very wrong once more, and Cor had not been present to wash it away again. "No..."

"_This is all a lie, child. Open your eyes."_

"Let it not be a lie! For me, keep this as my reality!" She realized the moment she screamed the words how they echoed the truth she had been shoving aside. Her eyes looked up from the grass, and she moaned in agony when she felt something seep between her legs. So far from home, her time had come, and the children were eager to get out. "Please!"

"_Is this so precious to you, that you would give up everything to keep it as your own? It is a lie, Brinella! See it for what it is, and do not die here!"_

_Die? _The word stuck in her mind, and she reached for the serpent, wanting to touch it just once. It bent near, touching the tip of its strange nose to the flesh of her fingers, and her eyes widened as fur began to sprout along her skin again. Pain engulfed her, and she retracted her hand to hold her stomach, flipping to her back. Her eyes, wide with fright and pain, centered on her stomach and she screamed.

They were trying to get out, trying to tear their way through her body. The gentle, promising kicks that had heralded active life were now something malicious and cruel, and her scream was one of terror as she realized just what was happening. Desperately, her mind reached for anything that might have helped her. Cor, his face flooding into her mind, but he was walking away from her. He and their son had turned from her, were walking towards another who welcomed them with open arms and shared an embrace with her husband.

The pain her body felt now extended to her heart and mind, searing her with the power she had given the reality she had accepted. Her eyes closed against the pain, closed against the visions of betrayal and loneliness, closed against it all and wanted nothing more to do with it, but still the agony of it all came crashing down on her. Again and again, the twins she carried struck against the flesh inside of her, and her screams reached a fever pitch as one succeeded, a furred claw rising from the remains of her stomach, and yet she was still awake, her screams caught in horror as the fingers flexed and twisted, and another appeared.

"_Illusion, child! They are not there. Hear me, see me, open your eyes to the truth! Wake up!"_

Brinella's back arched, so much that she was nearly supporting herself on her head, and her eyes opened and caught sight of what the serpent had now wound itself around. The rocks were gone, the sun did not shine, it was only a lonely moon limning the crimson roses that decorated a headstone. "Adeline..."

"_That's right. Remember. The pain of it, the hurt. Hold on to those things that made your reality a nightmare. Your friend loved you, and others do as well... the pain you feel now is nothing. Negate it. Ignore it. Do not let it rule you!"_

She tried. The soothing voice coaxed her, attempted to convince her even as she felt the pain tearing her apart that it was all a lie within her mind, and she found herself crying. Monsters. She was birthing monsters, and they were tearing her to pieces from the inside. There'd be no happiness for her, no joy. She would be an outcast, a leper, a hated being of nightmare.

"_Yes. You will be, only if you let it happen."_

Fingers stroked her sweaty face, brushing her hair back, and she reached to cling to the slender wrists that were there. More and more, the being that had guided her hear was acting as her guardian, pushing back the pain and making reality stand stark and clear. Her home was gone, her love had left her, her friends were dead...

"_Not all of them, sweet child. Not all of them, I promise you."_

"Promise..." Her voice was pitiful, but she felt as though the world no longer mattered if she only held the gaze of the woman that now lingered over her. White hair fell around her face, tickled at her tear-stained cheeks, and the light around them was fading. The harder Brinella gripped the mysterious woman, the more she felt as if she could stand it all. The tighter her grip on the woman, the tighter her grip on sanity.

"_I swear it, child."_

Brinella let a moan of longing pass her lips, glancing down at her stomach to find it whole and untouched, free from any mark that she had ever carried. "Only a dream..."

"_Yes. For some, the dreams can be more desirable than the reality, and it is in those that nightmares can form and be used against you. Life is harsh and cruel, child. Never forget that, no matter how much you might want to. It is the beauty that we find outside that makes it all worth it. No dream can ever hope to be as fulfilling as life truly can be, and no nightmare can ever truly hurt you the way we often must let the waking world do so. _

_But you are stronger for walking the realm of the wakeful, Brinella. You will learn much, and see far more than you could ever do so here. Some day, when you are prepared, you will take your place among others who walk the Dream... and we will guide you away from the Nightmare that has touched you. Until then, remember... it gains only as much power as you let it."_

"Is there truth in dreams, nightmare or not?" Brinella prayed the answer would not be what she knew it would, saw the sadness in the woman's closed eyes in a way she'd never see it in another's.

"_Sometimes. I cannot answer all of your questions, sweet child. I could never hope to answer all of my own. You must simply walk the paths set forth, and trust that you can handle what comes forward."_

Brinella nodded, sadly. She could still recall the way Cor looked as he embraced another, and the thorn of doubt was still deeply embedded on her heart. It had been weeks with no sign, and her heart felt empty. All she wanted to know was the truth, all she wanted to accept was lie.

"_Open your eyes, child. It is time to wake, and put your worries aside."_

"I don't want to."

"_I know."_

The world exploded into light and life.


	21. Chapter Twenty: Cursed

They had swarmed as soon as Nireesa had relaxed, her ghostly wings spread over them. It didn't stop the spiders and scorpions that fell from the branches and crawled from beneath the ground. They were not small things, creeping inside of pools of blood or sap as they had tried to make the warrior believe. These were large, with legs that would easily span Lydros' arm or Kalthor's leg. Dark in color, their carapaces glimmered eerily with the emerald light that filtered through the canopy, and Triadae had to suppress a scream of terror as one nearly as tall as she was came barreling for her like a mad dog.

Instinct took over for all of those who still walked, backing away so that they could shield each other without fail, and as the first wave fell upon them, they fought as comrades, guarding Nireesa and the worgen woman. Death wails filled their ears, the scent of charred flesh and hair assailing their sense of smell as Kalthor wrought doom upon them from above. Skies of fire threw down blazing comets, hammering into the midst of the vermin and scattering them. The few who remained doubled back, vanishing up into the trees to recoup.

So it continued, and minutes passed in groups, and in the time that they could manage to catch their breath they spent each moment bandaging wounds and offering food or drink. Time blurred for them, and they knew only that it had become night and then morning again by the brightness of the green around them. Still, Nireesa had not moved, and the meaning of such a thing made Lydros' strength falter just slightly as doubt gnawed at his heart.

"Did it take so long for us?" Kalthor watched the last of the attackers filter back into the trees, wavering on his feet before finally just falling down into the blood and ichor-soaked grass. "I want to see the girl awake as much as you do, my friend." His eyes went up towards Lydros, only seeing the back of the hunter and the ways his ears twitched as he listened. The beasts had scored many hits on all of them, yet none had been subject to the poisons they worried about. "Do you believe she'll come through?"

Lydros had no answer ready for the man. Guilt was a painful thing to feel, but it was there all the same, following behind doubt in a painful battle against his own heart. "Brin's strong. Foolish, but strong. They go for the weakest point, and drive everything they have into making their prey believe." He choked on his own voice, his hand gripping his bow tightly. "I was lost for longer than she, and I made it out alive. Maybe not sane, but certainly alive." Lydros managed a wan smile back at the warlock. "We can do nothing more than hope. How are you holding up?" He looked to the other, his ears flicking slightly.

Triadae glanced up from Nireesa, looking back over her shoulder before offering a single shrug. "I ache. I wish they would stop sending themselves in bits and pieces for us to toy with." Her eyes flicked to the forest, narrowing on the slight figures of what looked to be elves. Elves with things more than wrong with their bodies. The focus she had on them made both men follow her gaze, and Lydros growled under his breath.

"You may have just gotten your wish."

They slipped from the cover of shadow and mist, jeering smiles on pale faces. Six of them, Kaldorei in looks from what could be told right off. Four of them were female, and that was the most that could be told for similarities. Their hair was dark, hanging in clumps from their head as if they had newly risen from a bath, but it had no ends. The strands grew from their head, and then fed back into their skin along their backs, and from there sprang anomalies.

Two of them were small, perhaps just over what a Kaldorei might consider a child. Slight of frame, they looked half-starved, ribs poking through paper thin skin and eyes that would normally shine were dark, sunken into their faces. Triadae shuddered as they turned on her, and she heard laughter in her mind. A soft wind caught their bangs, lifting them up and revealing two more pairs of eyes upon the foreheads of each.

"That normal?" Kalthor backed up a step as the two males turned their gazes on him, crazed and wicked looking all at once. Like the children, they were half-starved, but they had something else that made his blood run cold. Barbs ran the lengths of their arms, fanning out along the backs and making a deadly line. As they stepped closer, he caught a shimmer of light across their skin and realized that they had gained the scales that would be found along the wing of a moth, decorating their skin.

Lydros alone held his ground, but he swallowed. "You're in the wrong place for normal, friend." The final two had set eyes on him, but they had made no move from where they had first appeared. They were watching him, as eagerly as he watched them, curious as to why he did not back away as the others did. They were beautiful, or may have once been. Of the six, they were clearly the oldest; time had granted them anomalies much like the men, additions to their bodies that served no other purpose than disfigurement. One wore thick scales along her naked body, unlike the moth-like ones the men sported. These were dark and rough, reminding him of the scorpids that lingered in the sands of tanaris. Black scales that were struck through with red, they suited the woman who swayed on her feet as she watched him, as if listening to some melody that he couldn't hear.

The other was pale in comparison, and she was the only who could have passed among normal people with mild trouble. Like the one she swayed with, she was completely nude, and it was only because of it that Lydros was able to see how far advanced her corruption and severance from nature was. If someone had stripped the legs from one of the spiders that was commonly referred to as a Bone Spider and had slid them beneath the flesh of a person to distort the shape of the skin around it, then they would have come close to the effect that was present on the woman's body.

The bone growths followed the path of her ribs below her breasts, the tips of the top row touching at the middle of her sternum. On her arms, there was only one that followed the length of them. Midway down her upper arm on both sides, the protrusions had pulled from the skin, and Lydros could see something crawling between skin and growth, creating a web that shimmered in the dim light. The same was present on her hips, though these pointed downwards. They framed her hips and joined beneath her navel, they ran along her legs as jointed as her own bones to curl beneath her knees and end only inches beneath.

Neither of them moved, save for the sway of their bodies, and this unnerved the hunter more than the look of them.

The child-like ones closed the distance far quicker than she could have believed possible. The first was parried only by luck, the second taking her chance to score long nails along a mangled bit of Triadae's armor. The resulting scratch burned far worse than fire, whiskey, or pure fel. At once, she felt her leg go numb and she toppled to the ground with a hiss of pain. Again the one struck, this time grabbing Triadae's bound hair and tugging it back while her companion made quick work of disarming the stricken warrior. Whispers flooded Tria's mind, beating at the walls of her defenses in mocking voices and wheedling tones, attempting to find her weakest point while they toyed with her physical body.

"Tria!" Kalthor saw his friend fall from the corner of his eyes, backing away as the second of his opponents approached. The first had fallen easily, both to the shadow that Kalthor summoned and to the devilish imp that lay phased around the corpse.

Piznap waited quietly, eyes burning holes in the back of the more cautious of the two males. Their sneaky attack would not work twice, nor was the Master paying nearly enough attention to keep him in check. A sorry thing, for Piznap was prone to bouts of what one might call stupidity. The scamp knew quite well the bond between the warlock who chained him, and the woman who had taken up a scream that threatened to deafen him. How many times had that same woman inflicted pain on poor little Piznap? The demon pondered the thought for a moment, heard the cry of his Master again, and made his choice. The grass parted around him as he skipped through it, dodging flailing limbs that kicked at him without realizing it, and took aim.

The whispers diminished, one of the creatures letting out a keening shriek that nearly matched her own. Before her eyes, it began to shift into something else, legs sprouting from skin in a grotesque manner that had Triadae choking on both a scream and bile. Poison-coated mandibles loomed in her vision, and she risked the pain of having her hair pulled just so she wouldn't have to look at the spider-shaped druid, tears of fear in her eyes.

And then the weight of it was gone, a keening death wail mingled with the mad cackling of someone half crazed. Triadae thought it was herself, thought she had finally snapped and just wouldn't stop laughing, and then the sound began to move around her, accompanied by the noise of something large being dragged through the grass. Amidst all the rest of the sounds of battle, it was an odd one to focus on, but even her remaining opponent had gone still to watch whatever it was. With her hand jammed against the scrawny neck, Triadae could feel the girlish creature move.

Blood – Light, she hoped it was blood! - trickled into her eyes and set them stinging, bringing her back to some odd form of clarity and she found the strength to grip the neck she held tighter, strangling the thing as it squirmed and tried to shift again. Triadae caught the sight of spindly legs and shut her eyes tight, whimpering beneath her breath while grabbing that quickly morphing neck with her other hand and – snap!

It stopped moving, curling half-formed legs against it's torso and simply remaining as dead weight that Triadae flung aside with shaking hands. No matter how she knew they had changed, no matter how she felt about the paths they had just taken, she could not stop thinking of how they had looked as no more than children. _The blood of children, the blood of children, __the blood of... _

Piznap stopped his gallivanting, though his cackles didn't cease. He found it highly amusing that the little child-thing became something he'd never seen a shifty-shaper become, and was even more amused to find that it squished just as easily as any other eight-legged thing that he had been made to squish. That this one was easily just a bit bigger than himself really held no weight on his tiny shoulders; while the big ones dodged and bled, he bit and killed! So happy was he!

Until he spotted the terrified look of the one his Master cared for. The same look he had seen a hundred times – no, a thousand! - before. The look of someone who had just cast their first spell and killed something precious, the look of a person who couldn't believe what they had just done. Oh, yes. Piznap knew the look well, and found it such a silly thing to be wearing. No, the ugly redhead should be bowing before him, for helping her. Yes! That was it! Clearly, he would have to slap some sense into her!

So he did.

Kalthor wasn't sure what his imp was doing. He was certain that it was the stupid thing cavorting with the corpse, and he found some mild ability to thank the imp privately for rescuing his friend. That the woman had been forced up against her deepest fears in the form of spindly spiders was a cruelty he'd never have pressed on her, but his worry would have to wait for another time. His own opponent was proving to be resilient, not falling to fire as the first had done.

He dodged a blind strike, flinching when a flash of red and glinting steel went past him. For a moment, he questioned why Piznap was impaled on the broadsword that his friend wielded with ease, and then decided that he truly didn't want to know and that the answer likely had something to do with the demon's own doing. The nether claimed the tiny demon just as Tria's blade tore through skin and bone, felling the second male and – for the time being – their final enemy.

The bloodlust that had overtaken her began to dissipate, leaving her weak and numb. Her skin burned and crawled as if covered in insects, and she couldn't see out of one eye completely, a gash above her brow bleeding freely and taking time to clot. The sword she could handle with such ease was now deadweight in her hands, and she longed to drop it and herself, longed to curl up on the blood-soaked grass and steal just a few hours of sleep.

Arms surrounded her, gentle words whispered in her ear that she had trouble making out amidst the buzz of adrenaline filtering from her. Her sword was tugged from her grip, dropped to the ground, and she moved an arm to throw it over the broad shoulders of the one who helped her. She barely questioned why she seemed so tired, why the world seemed to be fading, why her strength ebbed, only clinging to that lone support.

"She's been poisoned." Kalthor looked to Lydros, who still stood in an uneasy staring match with the two remaining druids. "I have nothing for something like this. Why haven't they come forward?"

"Waiting. They hoped to pick us off. We just succeeded in picking them off first."

But they weren't going to wait forever, and he shifted into a more defensive position as the women finally moved. The one with the scales of a scorpid fell back, leaving the other to approach in a graceful, if slightly listless, manner. "A shame, a shame. You killed our friends, and woke from your dreams. Weren't they pleasant dreams?" Her voice was like velvet, coaxing all of them to pay attention.

All except one.

No one expected the attack as it came. Her shift had come, as if her body knew what would be needed and simply became it. After all of the insects and people that they had just fought, the sight of a shaggy bear charging the slender woman disoriented them all. Especially when the beast was batted aside as if it were nothing more than an annoying gnat.

"You should have stayed asleep, asleep." The woman repeated the words in that same tone, and Lydros found even his own eyelids begin to feel heavy beyond measure. "Pretty thing, was your dream not enough for you? We can fix that, yes. We can fix that for good..."

Brinella groaned from where she lay, the force and pain of the strike she suffered having driven her out of even her worgen body. Her control was still not complete after the depth of the dream she had been victim to, and now she was slow in returning to a form that was safe. Nature wouldn't tell her what she needed to be, clogged and scared in this corrupted grove.

"Let us touch you, yes. Touch you, touch you. Touch you and let you become one of us. Yes, your dreams are like music to our ears. Become one of us, little pupling. One of us, yes. We want that..." Dreamwarper knelt beside Brinella, reaching out her fingers to caress the skin along the left side of her neck, and the druid screamed.

The sound alone broke all of those from their stupor, severing the spell that had nearly been cast upon them. Even Triadae roused herself enough to stumble forward a few steps and then collapse to her knees with a moan. But none of them knew what to do, and so Brinella's scream only strengthened beyond the point of even being able to be heard.

It would have snapped her sanity completely. It could have, with how the whispers became screams of mocking laughter in her head, with every nightmare turned against her a thousand fold in vivid detail and feeling. She knew only pain and grief in such enormous waves that even the area around her faded in and out of her view. It would be so easy to just give in, and let everything else take over...

If Nireesa hadn't intervened, striking the warped druid when her back was turned and setting its anger completely on her. If Lydros hadn't broken from his confusion and pulled his bow taut to let fly arrows that struck between the spider-bone ribs of the woman. If Kalthor hadn't summoned fire that licked at pale skin, sending their opponent into screams that could have rivaled Brinella's own.

For all the power of the Nightmare druid, it was still nothing against a full fledged, and highly angered, Dragonsworn. The battle lasted only minutes, but they were long minutes to the two who had been incapacitated in their own ways. There was no great victory in the defeat of the corrupt woman, no joy taken when her form finally fell still. All breathed heavy at the end of it, wary of the woman rising again. Too many times had such a thing happened in Northrend. When it became clear she would not, Nireesa took a deep breath and exhaled a swirling mist over the body of Dreamwarper. It dissolved, and she repeated the same with the other bodies that littered the glade.

Care was given to Triadae, sealing her wounds and giving her some protection against the poison that raged in her system. For all of her gifts, Nireesa could not remove that. One could, but a simple look at her made it clear she would have a hard time doing anything at all. An angry mark seemed to have been burned into her skin along her neck and behind her ear, pulsing a dark green and purple as if she had been badly bruised. Brinella's breathing was rapid, soft moans of terror filling the air around her.

They stopped when Lydros gathered her up into his arms, easily lifting the girl. Her arms went around his neck, and it enabled Nireesa to attempt healing the corruption that had been started, to no avail. "This is deeper than even I can attempt to mend. It is not a poison or disease... it is something more. We will need someone better than I to see to it. For now, we must retreat from here."

"I thought the one you just killed was the leader." Lydros' brow raised as he stepped aside.

"No," Nireesa sighed softly, almost sadly. "I thought so as well. I feel that I was wrong... while she was the most dangerous in the area at this moment, I fear there is far worse lurking in the shadows, and we are in no condition to fight right now. You are all weary, and in need of sleep. My magicks can only do so much. Come."

* * *

Winnie breathed a sigh of relief as the group appeared again. Three days had passed since Lydros had left the dwarf and the others, and the air had been tense indeed with the three savagekin within arm's reach of the goblin. Mixie, to her credit, had been on the best behavior. Winnie... had not made any friends.

All of her questions were silenced with a look from Lydros, who came close to the fire to lay the quivering form of the worgen down. That action alone seemed to stir the middle of the three savagekin, a soft growl rumbling in her chest even when she shifted. "Corrupt."

"Yes." Nireesa stepped through last, her closed eyes focused on Rylien. "I did not expect to see you here, Dreamer." Though her words were gentle, there was an edge of distaste to them, akin to an elder looking upon a foolish child. It was not missed by the group, but was ignored by Rylien.

Her eyes were focused on Brinella, and she made careful steps toward the druid as if expecting to be set upon at any moment. "Touched."

"Can you get rid of it?" Kalthor eyed the druid before kneeling beside Brinella.

"No, I cannot. While my kind are quite adept with working with a curse such as this, my skills are far more attuned to combat than they are healing." Her long ears flicked at the hiss of breath quickly taken in by more than one person. "I do know someone who may be able to, however. It has been a long time since I have seen her wander these woods, and I have no doubts that I know where to find her.

The difficulty lies in getting your companion to her before such a thing become irreversible. You will not be able to take a hippogryph. No animal alive would be willing to touch her with the taint that now lingers. Animals are very sensitive to these things, which is why she does not already have a riding mount. Even your own, well trusted and loved beasts would balk. As her condition worsens, it will be more and more difficult to control her. Her sense of sanity will be skewed."

"Ye make this impossible. She is capable o' walkin'."

"Is she, dwarf? If she sees something that is not there and bolts into the woods, how fast can you catch her? If she refuses to eat, do you dare brave her fangs?" Rylien's eyes narrowed. "No. I speak with personal experience in this matter, far more than you could ever understand."

"Jus' where do we need ta take her? Northren'!"

"No. Stormwind. There's a shamanka who helps at the orphanage there by the name of Eaxoa. She has proven skilled in mending the greatest wounds and healing the most grievous of damage to the mind. If she cannot help you, then no one can."

"Jus' how are ye expectin' us ta get her there without ridin', walkin', swimmin', flippin', or eatin'?"

Rylien looked about to respond when another voice cut in.

"You said you needed speed, and she basically needs to be watched, right?" The druid nodded, her eyes narrowing on the goblin. "Well, I've got an idea, but you ain't gonna like it very much."


	22. Chapter TwentyOne: Truth in Flight

Kalthor closed his eyes against the breeze that hit him the moment he appeared above deck. His hand gripped the railing, bracing him as his hair and robes whipped about him. The zepplin was quiet, nearly empty. Not many traveled on these to where they were headed, and those who did preferred to take the balloon in the early morning or afternoon. Now, they had set out in the middle of the night, where the air was cool and clean. Only two others had caught the flight with them, and both were fast asleep. Which was perfect for what he desired.

"Easy. The wind can be rough up here for the first few moments." He turned his gaze back, his free hand gripping the wrist of the worgen woman. "It's alright." Kalthor hated the look she watched him with, hated the way her eyes held fear she never should have been feeling. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him, and wondered if it was the same he saw when he looked in the mirror. "The open air will help settle your stomach. I'll keep a good hold on you, and if you start feeling frightened, you can grab me as tightly as you need."

He squeezed her wrist, intending it to be a reassuring motion, but he wasn't sure if that's what it came off as completely. Brinella was watching him, and yet watching past him, her eyes following the flow of his hair in the wind. Something told him that simply letting her from the room was dangerous, but he didn't have the heart to keep her locked away as he had been warned would be best. Freed from most of her restraints, all she wore now was the collar that suppressed her magic. It hung loose, meant to fit around her neck when she was completely worgen.

He felt her move under his hand before he actually saw her take a step. The bunching of her muscles in her arm made him frown, and he wondered what it was that made her tense so much. Her free hand gripped the railing as hard as she could, and when she finally came into the wind, she did so with a cry of fright that tore at him and made him take her into his arms. Kalthor was glad that those who staffed the zepplin weren't prone to nosing into others business.

"Hush. Come over here, Brinella. There's a bench you can sit on if you'd like." He almost laughed when she clung to him tighter, as if afraid they might both blow away. Laughing seemed cruel, though. So he all but carried her himself, setting her down on the bench and taking a seat beside her. "Are you hungry?"

Brinella shook her head, and he frowned. "You haven't eaten anything. Are you certain you won't have even a little something to help you? Perhaps that would ease your stomach more than just fresh air." Again she shook her head, and he sighed. "Alright. Let me know, though. We can't have our gladiator starving herself before her battles, can we?" There was no response, her blank stare lost on the floor beneath her feet.

Gladiator. That was how they had gotten her through Orgrimmar and onto the zepplin without too much trouble. Chained and blindfolded, Brinella had been led under armed 'guard' through the city. Mixie had even managed the illusion of a brand on her skin. Had Kalthor and Triadae not been as well known as they were, problems would have arisen in amounts greater than either could have handled.

Mixie had not been joking when she had said they might not like what her idea was. The only one who did not make some noise of dissent when her plan was explained was Nireesa. Winnie and Lydros were against it completely, for separate reasons. Triadae and Kalthor were no happier about it, though their arguments were quickly invalidated. More than once, it was argued that Brinella could make it to Stormwind by boat by both parties, only to have it shot down. They proposed taking her through a portal, only to have both Mixie and Rylien scoff at the idea. "How many portals has the girl been through?" Mixie had asked. None could answer. "How many have you passed through, sane of mind, and not wondered how we mages could do that every day?"

"I never said it was the greatest idea, but it's the quickest. People take their gladiators to Gurabashi all the time for the arena games, nevermind the trade down in Booty Bay. You can get her to Stranglethorn quickly, which isn't that far from Stormwind. Sure, it's not like showing up right at the docks..." Mixie had shrugged. "Besides. If she should have problems, there's none who wouldn't be afraid to put her in her place."

There had been a roar of anger from Winnie, and a scuffle broke out that ended with the dwarf burned from the campfire and nursing broken fingers while Kalthor held Mixie back. "Tell me I'm wrong! Tell me that you wouldn't hesitate to harm her if she was diving for your throat – put me down!" The green woman had smoothed her robes once Kalthor did as she asked, her eyes shining bright in the firelight. "The bruisers are used to dealing with those who try to rebel when they think their masters are weak. They are good at putting down a threat without doing severe damage, without making things damaged goods."

"Brinella wouldna hurt either o' us." Winnie had tried to reason with others, but she had felt the futility of it as well. Mixie was right – neither of them would hurt Brinella if they could not help it, but there was no guarantee that she would give them the same in her current condition. It was with a great deal of sadness that the two parted from the others that very night, speeding towards the nearest place they could take to the skies. Nireesa had stayed with them, soothing the frightened worgen while Mixie and Triadae ventured to a nearby outpost for supplies.

Rylien took time to explain what she could to Kalthor. It was a reluctant instruction, with much of it spent with Kalthor requesting clarification on something simply glossed over. In time, he realized that this was less because the savagekin was loath to speak to him, and more because explaining what she knew was akin to reliving a nightmare. The great white druid that accompanied her refused to leave her side during this, though the smaller had frequently vanished to spy on the surrounding forest.

"Those who cut themselves from the natural balance lose the ability to call on nature. It is another reason why I am unable to cure the child of her infliction. In return for this severance, they instead gain the powers under the call of others. Some who work among magic have names for the groups of magicks. They call these groups _domains_. Typically, those who have turned themselves to the Nightmare use the most destructive of the _domains_.

The one that the worgen was touched by must have had access to the spells generally taken by those who dabble in madness. Nightmare druids are capable of many things; warping what they've come into contact with is almost a specialty of theirs. They can kill natural animals and plants, warp the flesh of a human being, and warp the mind of a person with a single touch. One who couples this already destructive power with the magicks that play with the sanity of a person is a formidable opponent."

Rylien's frown had deepened, her fingers idly running through the white pelt of the male druid she leaned against. "This domain of madness is frequently seen among nihilistic cults and crazed priests. The power itself is said to be entwined with the old gods. Thus, it is a horrible thing. Those who take it up are skilled at working even closer to the mind than the average person. They are capable of inflicting paranoia, mild or rash fear, throwing their victims into crushing despair, and even bringing them into a waking nightmare. The most powerful of these people who tamper in madness are even capable of inflicting permanent insanity at a touch, and can split the very soul and mind of a person to create a reflection of the victim within their mind. A split soul, if you would, capable of the very worst a person could be capable of."

Her attention had flicked towards Brinella, the faint green that lingered within the silver of her eyes swirling opaque and then fading away. "I do not believe that she has had such drastic things happen to her, not directly. I cannot imagine that the warping of the flesh was comfortable, and it is not uncommon for someone to experience a..." she had paused in thought, struggling with the word, "trauma that has unhinged them. Since the child was touched enough for the taint to settle in her, it will spread. It could strangle her own touch with nature at the same time that it inflicts pain enough to sever her mind." Rylien had shrugged. "It may move slowly, or it may feed on her despair and fear. Of that, I don't know."

Despite all of the warnings, Brinella had been nearly docile through the journey. Though Triadae had tried to be supportive in some manner to the woman's pain, there was something of a wall between them. Her patience was thin already, angered that Kalthor wouldn't even look at her without her demanding it, and Brinella's reluctance to eat the food Triadae brought her or even converse when spoken to only splintered the bare amount of control that she could manage.

So Kalthor cared for the worgen, and wondered what it was that kept her from sleeping even with the dragon-scale pendant Nireesa had gifted her, telling her that the remnants of the dragon's powers would guard her as it always had guarded the Dragonsworn. It was that necklace he focused on, reaching a hand to brush fingers over the surface of it, and noting how Brinella flinched away from his hand as if he might have been making to strike her.

"I don't like to sleep, either." Unable to stand the silence anymore, he reached for anything that would have made the worgen feel as if she had a friend with her. "When I close my eyes, I see what I could have done to her. I hear her screams if I let my guard down. There are even moments where I see and hear it all when she speaks. I am afraid of what I could have done to her then, all for the sake of a scrap of power."

His hand pulled back, folding with the other for his chin to prop upon while he watched clouds pass by them. "I try to tell myself that it's all just an illusion, a bad dream that I can just shake off. It doesn't work, because everything is so real. If I had ignored her pleas then... I saw what I would have done to her. They forget to tell you that you lose those things dearest to you when you gain power. Now I feel her pulling away from me, because I'm too afraid to stand up to what my mind keeps trying to feed me."

Kalthor laughed, a very dry laugh. "I love her, but now I can't stand being near her. I've followed her everywhere, been her friend when she needed one the most, and now I've been put right into her shoes." He flicked his eyes back to Brinella, noting that she was listening to him. Her eyes still stared anywhere but at him, but her body language proved otherwise. "Now I understand why she distanced herself from everything, and I wonder if I shouldn't be doing the same to spare her the way she was trying to spare me."

"You think that walking away might be the better thing to do?" She was quiet, her voice muffled against her arm with how curled up she was, but he could hear her anyway.

"I don't know. I wish that I could just push everything I saw in that grove out of my mind. What happened in the past was horrible, and it could have been worse. I believe that is why it hurts so much... because it wasn't just something pulled out of no where. It was something that was just on the other side of a closed door that I didn't open. So it hurts and scares me just that much more."

"I should have known better." There was sadness in her voice that stung him. "I dreamed of a time where none of this happened. Where the land didn't split beneath my feet and my best friend had a child of her own, instead of being buried alone. Where the man I love was with me, instead of hiding and making me question if he is even still alive. Where I had a child, and was bearing two more. Where this curse had never been brought down on me." Tears filled her eyes, and he could tell she was fighting to keep her voice from going into a hysterical pitch.

"I should have known better, but I was so content to live in that time that I was so willing to give up all of this. I just want to be _normal_. I want all that I had back, and I hate that I have to fight my own heart and break it into a thousand pieces for the sake of my sanity..." Her face disappeared into the crook of her arm, her shoulders shuddering.

Kalthor could say nothing to her pain. He couldn't even begin to believe he understood any of it, and he was loathe to try and make a joke of what was so very real to all of them. The world had changed, and they simply had to struggle onward as they had done previously. Some, he knew, would have to struggle harder. Everything he wanted to say simply seemed as if it just was not enough to comfort either of them. "What do you hate the most of all of it?"

She didn't speak for a long time, long enough that he thought she might have fallen asleep at last. "Not knowing." Her eyes finally left the bench and looked to him, almost pleading. "Not knowing anything."

"We'll get you to the shaman. You can know that, at least. You can know that we will part ways at that point, and you will continue to do good things and you may do some bad things. You'll find the ones you are looking for, I know. They are looking for you, as well." Kalthor smiled slightly, like a father looking at his offspring in pain and not knowing the words to say that might make it all go away. He could only hope the ones he used were the right ones. "One day, you'll look back on everything that has happened and will share it with your children."

"I don't want children."

Again she was curled in that ball, and he bit his tongue. _Wrong words_. "Then you will share them with your friends."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged, moving so that he could brush his fingers through her hair. "I don't, but you will. Eventually, you will know everything you need to know." It was a long time before he spoke again. "Are you cold?"

"...Yes."

Kalthor wrapped an arm around her, tugging her closer to his own warmth. For the first time since she had been touched, she did not try to wriggle free. He propped his chin on the top of her head, and was surprised when he felt her breathing even and turn to sleep.

Triadae waited until she was certain that neither would hear her retreat back down the hallway to their cabin, a palm lifting to rub at her eyes, where the faint prickle of tears was making itself known...

… and so the zepplin continued on.


	23. Chapter TwentyTwo: Elements of Survival

_**AN:**_ We leave Brinella behind as we move onwards, at least for a bit. Don't worry for her, Eaxoa is a very good caretaker! When we return, we'll be following Tria a bit more, as well as some others who deserve a bit of screentime. In other news, Fang and Spell was put up as a rec'd fic over on TVTropes, much to my surprise. Thank you for the rec. I'm considering making an actual page for it, but that's for another time.

So we've seen Dragonsworn, Felsworn, Savagekin, and Nightmare Druids for our 'special classes' so far. I wonder what else is lurking in the wings. Will Tria and Kalthor ever get together! Will we find out why Winnie dislikes Horde so much! What is Lydros seeing out of the corner of his eye! I know. I'm only adding in more and more loose ends. Woe is me.

- Asha.

* * *

The world kept turning.

As it had for thousands of years, the world always turned. Green fields died and became amber ground, trees reached for the sky and then fell, even mountains crumbled beneath the weight of time and all that it entailed. Beauty came and went, anger eventually dissolved beneath apathy, and hope would be crushed beneath despair and then find its way free to fly again.

This was the world, and in some ways... the world was the same, no matter where it was in the universe and what it was called by those who lived upon it, and these were the things that were thought on by those who had lived so long that they had viewed the rise and fall of nations, had viewed war and desolation, and had learned that the world would continue turning, always and forever.

Sometimes, though... sometimes it felt as if the world stopped for only moments. Where everything ceased to move and instead stood in place, and screamed. Simply screamed, with all the pain and anguish of a woman wronged and a child angered. These times were not so easy to see for some, but for others it was all too easy. Sometimes, what the people believed was the most important was not what the world itself believed.

"_Why can they not see the way I do?"_ Earth melded beneath her fingers, arching and dipping and then joining to the cliff again. Around her, the rumble of elementals was a soothing backdrop to the crash of water and the song that rang out from the spirits who danced in the waters. This was her calling, beyond just the flow of nature that the druids united with. The world screamed, and she sobbed. The world laughed, and she danced.

For Eaxoa, the world did not simply _turn_.

Above her, the zepplin she waited for broke from an overcast sky and dipped into the trees no more than a mile away. She had not expected the raven that had found her in the graveyard of Stormwind, understanding that the one who sent it did not do so easily. Some scars were simply harder to heal than others. So the message had been delivered, and the flowers left behind as she left the walls of the city and stepped into the forests of Elwynn.

By foot, the trip would take a little more than a week. A little more than a week to walk and watch the scenery fade from bright to morose, and then to the vivid colors of a rainforest torn asunder. She never grew tired, never ached the way others did after walking endlessly. There were no feet to bruise on stones and burrs, only hooves that clicked on stone and made it easier for her to tread on uneven ground.

Eaxoa had long settled her differences with the races that lived on Azeroth before her. Like life, they were varied and beautiful in their own ways, with boundless potential for those who lived such short lives. Only the night elves could understand how it felt to blink and watch the world jump centuries ahead, but they were far from willing to associate with her unless it was needed. Aiding the illness of one, finding the relics of another, could never hope to begin the mend the rift that her very appearance tore through them.

The Draenei were an elegant race, graceful in a way that surpassed the elves. The men were built like walls; even the ones who dealt in magic were still formidable opponents simply in appearance. In contrast, the women were curvaceous and lovely by most standards. As long as those standards were perceived by fellow Draenei.

She was lovely, in an alien way. There was pride in her stance, shoulders back with more than just the way her spine curved. Average in height and even in her build, she became extraordinary only in how she looked. Pale blue skin was marred by time, old and nearly faded scars littering the flesh. Her horns swept back along her skull, holding back the dark chocolate curls that spilled to her waist.

While she would normally be wearing the leather and chain that afforded her the protection she desired and channeled her latent powers, the haste with which she had been summoned had made it impossible to gather her armor from the smith who was repairing the damage from a night of adventuring that some might have called fun. Eaxoa didn't find chaining the elements against their will or running from things that wanted to step on her _fun_, but she went where she was needed.

Like now.

She would wait where she was, knowing that there were some who would not welcome her appearance, no matter how pure her intentions. To her, the division between the Horde and the Alliance was a pitiful squabble, but she knew that others did not share her ideals. Assumptions were for the younger, shorter-lived races.

Regardless, she stood once more and let her hands smooth down the silver-blue robes of mageweave that she wore. There would be time to muse as she wanted on the way back to the city. Musing was almost normal for the shaman. Her steps were slow, picking an easy way down a slope that she had scaled with ease. Rocks and sand slipped from beneath her, but her steps did not falter. Meeting solid ground again made her long for plains that had been long abandoned.

But only for a moment.

The path she had followed from the main road was clear, hidden from casual sight by a framing of thick leaves from the tropical plants that grew in the Vale. The click of her hooves on stone joined the rustle of foliage as she pushed past and waited, her eyes turned down the path, an immovable sentinel for two hours time.

_'You may not see it at first, but I assure you... you will feel it long before you are near her. Do what you could not do for me. Save her.'_

Her skin itched almost painfully, a surprising and sudden contrast to the dull ache in her bones that being so near to the elements in agony inflicted on her. Eaxoa knew the itch that she felt as the herald of fel energy, and she fought back the urge to flee as far as she could, swallowing back a sense of disgust that pained her. It was not her own feelings, no. While she did not have any love for the Legion's power, she could not bring herself to hate those who used it as easily as it used them. Her bond with the elements allowed her to feel their revulsion, and Eaxoa had spent years trying to build up walls against that.

The first to appear in her sight was a slender woman in brown leathers that covered all of her skin but that of her face. Her hair had been bound back, a vibrant red that matched the sheath of the sword strapped to her back. A belt around her waist held a variety of pouches and a thin-bladed dagger that gleamed in the setting sun. Eaxoa likened her walk to a prowl, her eyes watching the surrounding forest with a caution that might have bordered on fear.

The second was blonde and male, similar to the other in that they were both Sin'dorei. He was only slightly taller than the woman, both of whom were still shorter than Eaxoa herself. Despite the way the elements fled from around him, angered by his taint, there was a conflicting aura of fear and gentleness. He wore flowing robes, dark blue with silver threading woven into runes that would aid in his own castings.

His hand held the last by her wrist, and Eaxoa knew what Rylien meant in an instant. Had the druid not written her personally, and she had only found the three in the wild by accident, she would have been lead to believe that the human woman was little more than a servant to the others. A servant who had been beaten to the point where her very will was shattered, and even then that was not the proper comparison. Eaxoa muttered an oath under her breath and stepped into the road.

The woman paused for a moment, muttering something back to the male who only shrugged and glanced back at the last. His grip was firm, pulling her forward so that he could plant his other hand at her lower back. Eaxoa withdrew the servant ideal quickly; the girl was not afraid of these two as much as she was simply deadened to all the rest of the world. She waited patiently while he spoke to the one he held, and her eyes finally lifted from the ground to settle on Eaxoa.

To any who might have passed by at that moment, the scene was tense. Even the shaman felt how tightly wound the three were, and for once was completely lost on how she might proceed. She did not want to move closer, seeing the fright of the the human girl clear in her eyes, but she did not want to remain so inanimate when so much time had already been spent. More words were spoken, and the male wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a brief hug before releasing her and stepping back, his hand pushing at the small of her back again.

A vivid memory painted itself in Eaxoa's mind, bright and real as if it was happening all over again. Her throat tightened, steel resolve melting under her, and for the first time in a very long time, her hands knit together in worry. Then it was gone, stability returned once more and she could breath, extending a hand as the human crept towards her. It was not taken, and though Eaxoa felt no insult at it, she could not shake the haunted look the girl leveled on her as she paused in front of her.

"You have not slept well in many days." Her fingers traced over her skin, catching on the oddly ragged portion along the left side of the girl's face. The hiss of intaken breath could not be missed from either side, though one drew away out of shame while the other tightened her grip just enough. "Bid your friends goodbye. It will be a long time before you see them again," Eaxoa let her hands fall to the human's shoulders, turning her around and lowering her lips to her ear, "but you _will_ see them again. Fix their faces in your mind, and never forget."

There were no words traded, no gentle touches or tears. The three simply stood watching each other, as if understanding that the rift between them was only going to grow wider with time. The blonde was the first to turn away, his elven companion following only a few steps later. Eaxoa lifted a hand as they both looked back for just a moment before passing the curve, and then they were gone.

It took only a touch on her arm to turn the human about again, and Eaxoa offered a gentle smile that barely showed the tips of her fangs. "Come." She moved off down the path a few steps, pausing as she heard the woman's voice.

"Who are you?"

The shaman looked back at her for a few moments, and her lips pulled in a cryptic smile. "I can't answer that, until you can answer it for yourself." Her head tilted, fingers motioning down the road and she turned back again to continue walking. She didn't need to turn to know that she was being followed.


	24. Chapter TwentyThree: Regrets

"It's no' fair!"

Lydros kept walking, drowning out the dwarven woman's complaints with the steady sound of his boots on stone. It was far from the best answer to dealing with Winnie at this point in time, but it was the only one he could manage with one hand atop her head, directing her around the city while she had her nose stuffed in the letter that had arrived the moment they stepped off the boat. Winnie had all but but battled the raven for it, releasing a quick cheer of triumph that quickly melted into one of angered sorrow.

_'She is safe. Live as you would, and pray to your deities that she is sane when you next meet.'_

He knew the unspoken command quite well, knew what was being implied in the emerald ink that had been in the mind of the druid who wrote it. Their society was matriarchal, and every man within grew up with a keen sense of respect towards those of the opposite gender. They were not to seek out the worgen, nor find her until the fates deemed it the proper time. Though Winnie had been outraged to hear it from him, he could feel nothing more than a deep twinge of guilty relief.

"Wha' aboot her brother, an' her lover? We were gonnae fin' them both with her, weren't we? She was supposed ta be happy..." Winnie squirmed her head out from his hand, glaring up at him. "I though' we were her friends..."

His lip curled. He truly didn't mean for it to do so, nor was he sure that he meant the words that left him. He didn't even have to look at the dwarf to know the scathing look she turned on him. "Monsters don't need friends. She'd have turned on us eventually, like a beaten dog that isn't completely tamed by a gentle hand. She's more a threat now than ever, and it's better to have her gone than be a victim in the morning."

"You don't mean tha'."

"Don't I?" He stopped, not far from the entrance of the Deeprun Tram, his arms folded over his chest. "She's a walking curse, Winifred. One bite, and we might be the next ones covered in fur. The only one we could find to help her has also proven to be of a race that is easily swayed by pretty words."

"She's a frien'!" Winnie roared, not even casting a second glance at the people skittering around the two. "She wouldnae hurt either o' us, and you know it!"

"Then why did we flee so easily? Then why did we give her up?"

"Because... because we couldn't help her li'e the others could."

"I don't trust the demon," Lydros glowered back at Winnie, holding her gaze utterly. "Her kind nearly destroyed our world. If she's the only one who can save the corrupt, then we're in a sad state of affairs indeed."

"Just because one tried to bring your precious tree down, dunnae mean they're all bad."

"That coming from the one we had to nearly keep unconscious to prevent attempting murder on the Horde we were in the company o-"

"Horde kill'd me Da'!"

Lydros waited until the echo of her anger had left the air around them, and returned her glare with a wicked smirk. "The whole of the Horde?"

"... No."

"A sin'dorei?"

"N-no..."

"A goblin, then?"

Her silence was answer enough, and he turned on his heel again to step into the tunnel to the Tram. "Don't speak to me of lumping an entire race into one, when you are guilty of the exact same thing. The demon can take care of the monster, and we can continue on with our lives as if we'd never met her."

"Ye've been an ass ever since Ninya vanished. Tha whol' world just rotates aroun' ye, don' it? Cannae get yer jollies with one, so ye'll just bring everyone down aroun' ye until there be nothin' more than flame and cinder where there was once hope an' laughter." She ignored his growl as she stalked by him, not looking at him at all. "Fine. Ye can mope an' curl up in yer li'l pit o' despair, but I'll not be tha one ta keep ye company."

Winnie stalked to one of the Tram cars as it docked, making it very clear in her eyes that he wasn't welcome in her presence. "So we're clear, if we're gonnae go aboot callin' others names, might I point out just who brought the demons here in tha firs' place? Who happens to have at least two of tha most warped an' evil races on their hands? Jus' because ye have tha greatest skills of anyone I know, dunnae mean ye and yours are clean."

"At least I _have_ skills, aside a big mouth and broad backside." He instantly regretted the words, hating the way her anger flooded into hurt in only a few seconds, and how empty he felt when she turned her back on him, and the Tram pulled away before he could board as well with only the echo of an extremely explicit dwarven slur back at him.

Admittedly, he had wanted to go to Ironforge and get completely smashed on some of their more expensive draughts. He had wanted to do so with his closest friend, who made anything more amusing to deal with. In typical fashion, he had only made things worse between them, and he didn't even know exactly how he had done it.

Brinella _was_ a friend, wasn't she? He knew she was not a weak little human, despite her looks. The girl had gone through everything with far better sense and hope than he himself could have ever managed, and yet he was putting her down like she had brought everything down on herself and deserved what she had gotten. Elune help him, no one deserved what she had gotten.

Which meant the problem lay with him, and he couldn't think of where it had started. Was it truly Ninya's disappearance that had brought this side of him to the open? It made sense. He had been so impressed with Brinella and how she had coped with her new life that he had forgotten she was only human. A part of him had never forgiven her for not managing to bring Ninya back, never truly placing blame on the rogue herself. The pedestal he had placed Brinella on had been impossibly high, and he only realized it after she had toppled from it in his eyes.

Then there was the weakness, the hate for himself that he was so pathetic that he couldn't do anything to help her. Years upon years ago, he'd have been one of those dedicated to Ysera and the Dream. It was only because another path opened, and then another, and then more until he couldn't even find that which had led him astray first. He had always found that he never looked on that moment with pride, never could tell anyone that he didn't regret his choice, when he knew all too well that he did. So very, very much.

Now it ate at him, watching Brinella walk away under the hands of people he only barely trusted. Years had passed since he had seen either of them, and his own nature played with his fears on letting those he watched over out of his sight. Irial, Ninya, and now Brinella. Helpless to do anything for any of them, and his pride was wounded for it. But they _had_ delivered her safely. There should have been some grain of trust there for them, yet there wasn't.

Nor was there any for the one they had handed her over to. That Rylien had volunteered her should have cheered him. The druid rarely trusted those inside her race. To be sent to someone outside was completely unheard of. There should have been faith in her choice, and yet there was none. In the deepest depths of his mind, he knew that it wasn't dislike as much as jealousy. He knew it, and he hated it.

But none of that would help him now, when he had truly wounded one he had seemed to be incapable of chasing away from him. He had taken her friendship for granted, he knew. With a muttered expletive under his breath, Lydros kicked at the stone, his hands jammed in his belt. He'd feel guilty if he didn't apologize, and there was no sense in drinking without his favorite partner.

With a grumble deep in his chest, Lydros boarded the Tram as it appeared again, privately hoping that Winnie had cooled off enough to be waiting for him at the Ironforge side. Deep down, he knew she wouldn't be there. But there was always hope.


	25. Chapter TwentyFour: Wolfsong

**AN:** _I am so very sorry for the slow updating, folks. It isn't that I've lost interest with BFAS, actually far from it. I've been playing with trying to figure out what the flying frick I'm going to do to close the gap between where we are now, and where we really should be. All of where we are now happened back when Brin (who is a PC, not an NPC) was roughly level 20 (plotwise). Brin recently hit 82, and her story has evolved so much that I'm sitting on my heels and going... "Oh god, how am I going to do this?"_

_Quality is super important to me, so I've been careful about how to go about it. If the story was simply about Brin, I could (though I'd hate every moment of it) do a summary chapter that would catch us up easily enough. But it isn't simply about Brin, as I was telling a friend of mine tonight. We're following several characters, seeing how all of these people are growing, and I find that I can tolerate that just as much as I could if we were just following Brin. Actually, I love it more. I think I've always been a little happier with following a group rather than just a single person. I love Brin, and where she is right now... but Lydros, Tria, Kalthor, Winnie, and all the others deserve love as well. Even as their writer, even having a good idea of how this will all end (holy crap, we're only just beginning, why am I talking about an end!), I'm so very eager to see how these characters grow._

_I've also become extremely addicted to trying to draw them, but I'm afraid that my artistic ability has bowed out beneath my writing skill. It's really frustrating fighting with one passion while another comes so very easily. I like to think that, one day, I'll write something so awesome that I find fanart for it. Doesn't every author dream of that?_

_... and then I think of the shipping. Ohgawd._

* * *

Hope didn't stay for too much longer than it took for him to step off the Tram. The dock was completely empty, if he didn't count the rats that made themselves known. Without Shade near him, he felt particularly alone. With one lingering glance of the area, Lydros sighed heavily and made his way into the gnomish quarter of Ironforge, and promptly remembered why he disliked the city.

The noise was always one thing. It was always loud, echoing in the caverns and hitting his ears threefold from where it had originated. It was in tiny places like this that he hated his race and their gifts. It was in places like this that he realized he'd never be able to manage anything smaller. A deep-seated fear that wouldn't let him go, Lydros wasn't even sure where the terror that came with small spaces originated from. One moment he had been completely fine, and the next moment he was afraid of what might happen if the walls caved in.

It was something he passed off as simply natural to his kin, but he had seen Ninya climb through crevices and hunker down in small caves with ease. She had rescued Brinella without issue, and never spoke ill of the dark. Not like him. Lydros pulled his hood up and over his head, relishing the fact that it not only hid him from the cavern, but hid the cavern from him. His intent was simply to find Winnie, to apologize and make certain everything was as it always was... but something nagged at him that it wouldn't be so simple this time around.

Winnie was a fighter at heart, but she could be struck down as easily as the next one. The youngest of a large family, the woman had watched everyone before her become something of importance, but never managed herself. She could wield a hammer easily enough, but teaching her beyond what she could do on her own only compounded the problem. Winnie had the heart for a healer, but none of the faith. While her sister was called to the Light, Winnie played with her father.

When her brother discovered his talent for the woods and wilds, Winnie tumbled with her father. While all of the others slowly found their ways, Winnie simply played and laughed. Then her father was gone, and Winnie had realized that she couldn't play anymore. Alone with her mother, a stout and lovely dwarven lass that even Lydros had taken to calling "Ma", Winnie had waited for the embrace of the Light, for the call of the wild, for the joy of a quick steal. None of it had come, and she had begun to feel as though there was no place for her.

Even now, he could remember how he found her. Drinking her under the table had taken months of work, but in that time, he had peeled back the layers and discovered the insecurities and pain. Somewhere along the line, she had done the same to him. When he had accepted Irial's disappearance at last, it was Winnie who had stood by him with her arms open. When Phaetos, his beloved owl, passed on from old age, it was Winnie who had kicked him in the ass and told him to find another who would bring him joy.

As time had passed, he began to find that his prayers to Elune were centered around Winnie. For years they had been pleas to help _him_. While Elune never answered him as others claimed she answered them, he noticed that there were days when his friend seemed to walk a bit lighter. Where her laugh was easy, and where she wasn't relying on the drink to live. More than his fear of close places, more than the fear of failure, he had an intense fear that Winnie just might find out how much he had grown to care for her.

Sometimes, when they were all asleep and he could hear her breathing, he wondered what it might be like to feel her beside him. Feel her near him, at their weakest moment. When those moments happened, he pushed them away with an uneasy laugh, and would swear to himself that he desperately needed to pay a visit to Goldshire at the first possible moment. The uneasy feeling would last for minutes, and then it would die again. Winnie was no Kaldorei, and he knew this well. It wasn't her body that attracted him, it was her indomitable spirit.

In the back of his mind, he was more than aware someone was laughing at him. His lip had always curled when he saw one of his brethren in the company of someone who was not of their race, and he had never been able to understand. Not until he caught that first thought in the back of his mind, that first appreciative glance at the dwarf when she wasn't looking. All of the protests of his kin lit up in his head, and he hadn't even been able to look at Winnie for a week when he realized it. Despite it all he couldn't answer the one question that he needed answered. He didn't know if he _loved_ her.

He didn't know if he _could_ love her! Her family accepted him out of obligation, but the idea of pairing them off would be something out of a drunken gamble. He had taken Winnie with him, determined to find something she could do. She proved useful in her own way, more with her wit than with her weapons, but she kept him grounded. He returned her to her family often, proving to them that she was alive and well. They trusted him as they would trust the heroes who wandered their halls, but not as an acceptable mate.

No one had ever wanted Winnie. The only man she had ever spoken of in tones that resembled love had been her father, and the joy that lasted when that happened would quickly dissolve into a sadness that she couldn't be pulled out of. It hurt her, deeply, that no one ever seemed to want her. He wondered what she would think if he made any sign that he might possibly want her in a way that no man did, and quickly discarded the thought. She'd laugh harder than he had.

"Goldshire, indeed." Lydros let out a breath that he hadn't even known he had been holding, and looked up from where his eyes had been firmly centered on the floor. His feet had carried him without his mind really following, and he found himself in the midst of the auction house. Even now, he couldn't remember what the dwarves called their quarters, and it wasn't as if that upset him much. The place was crowded with more than just dwarves, members of every race filtering past him as if he didn't exist. A few were so bold as to jostle him in their eagerness to get on with their lives.

There wasn't any particular reason he stayed where he was, looking out over the crowds. For a few moments he wanted to believe that he would find Winnie among the masses, but he knew she hated this section of Ironforge as much as he hated the entirety of it, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he was supposed to be where he was. When nothing more seemed to come up, he moved out of the thick of things, swallowing back the bile that came forward at the feeling of being trapped in the small room.

His boot touched the final stair, and an odd little thing happened. All of a sudden, the entire place went completely quiet. No more shouting, no more screaming, no more laughter. Looking around, he could tell that the world still moved and that people still made noise, but his ears simply refused to pick up the sound. Nothing filtered to him save for a single sound that took him a great deal of effort to identify. The writhing masses cleared for a moment, a fraction of a second that stretched to nearly a minute, and he felt something painful tug deep within his stomach.

She was nearly ethereal in her grace, striding through the crowds with such ease that she never once touched another person. Her eyes were focused ahead of her, slowly moving downwards, and he realized the reason when she knelt and took the head of a large snow leopard in her hands and nuzzled her nose with its own. That simple motion, so small and yet so filled with love, made him feel more ill than his fear did.

The woman stood, still with that cat-like grace, and turned her head towards him. If she did see him, she gave no sign of it. Perhaps he was merely another hooded man within the crowds, but he saw her well enough. Saw the way her silver eyes held a silent mirth, the way bow-shaped lips quirked in a slight smirk of distaste, and the way hair as dark as a starless night fell over one eye in a messy and undone sort of way. When she turned away, he saw the way she had let her hair grow out, and the tangle of vines and leaves that had become entwined inside of it.

Wilds, assurance, and grace. All the things that had drew him the first time were there ten-fold. There was no doubt in his mind of who the woman was; nothing could make his heart race and his stomach churn like knowing she was nearby could. After all the years of denial, and then acceptance, he was near driven to his knees under the weight of shock. "Irial..." Her name barely brushed his lips, and when the crowd converged once more and sound returned, he pushed through in a desperate bid to get to her. Winnie was far from his mind, a bare echo compared to the scream of his memories tearing at him. Things he had tried so hard to push away. But when he made it to the place where she had been standing, she was gone.

Frustration bloomed amidst uneasiness, and he looked around for even a sign of the woman who had been standing there. Not a thing could be seen on the floor, and a deep intake of breath found no scent more than that of sweat, oiled leather, and smoke. A shudder went down his spine, and despite himself, he ran his hand through his hair, pushing back the hood that had previous hidden his face from the caverns. "I know I saw her..."

Yet no matter how much he assured himself that his eyes had not betrayed him, his senses cried out that they had. Around the area he looked, and saw nothing but what was perfectly normal among those who wandered Ironforge's caverns. Slowly, his heart started to slow its rapid beating, his breathing normalizing until he was no longer worried about hyperventilating. All of which suddenly shot right back up when he felt a small touch on his thigh.

Whirling, he expected to find a thief picking at his pouch – belatedly remembering his was tucked safely in his vest – and was instead shocked to find that he was instead looking at a familiar face. The dwarven child was truly only just old enough to be toddling about, but he had proven to have a very curious nature that had landed him in trouble more than once. What shocked him more was that the child was, after a very quick look around the commons, actually alone. Amfirth never let her youngest child out of her sight.

"Eebro." The child reached higher with his good hand, catching the edge of Lydros' cloak and tugging gently. Barely higher than the Kaldorei's knee, Ganvird had taken up the place of the 'baby' of the family for more than just his place amidst the births. Lydros was reminded of it when he crouched to meet the child at the same level, catching him at the wrists and lifting him enough that the toddler squealed with joy.

No one exactly knew why Ganvird had come out the way he had. There were some in Winnie's family who joked that the 'bun needed to be put back in the oven for a bit longer', and others who worried that Amfirth had something wrong with herself that would be cast onto her child, and even more who were superstitious enough to think that all of Amfirth's sins were embodied on the babe. Lydros just believed the same that he always had – Ganvird was the way he was supposed to be, odd as it might have been.

One of his tiny hands was clubbed, the fingers stunted and curled in along his palm. His face was marred by an odd scar along the left side that twisted the corner of his lip into a constant smirk, and he had more trouble speaking than others. When he spoke, it reminded Lydros of the timeless giants who wandered the cliffs around the world. Deep, with a slight scraping on the undertone. While the rest of his family pitied him, Lydros actually found the child comforting. For all of his disfigurements, he was a bright child who was afraid of very little.

"Eebro, Eebro, Eebro..." Ganvird sang in his odd little voice, his mouth pulled in a bright smile that made his stone grey eyes light up while he swung in Lydros' grip. No matter how many people tried to correct the child on how to speak the Kaldorei's name correctly, Ganvird never quite got the hang of it. It never truly mattered to Lydros. He just loved to see the child smile, and hear him laugh.

"Where's your mother, Ganvirth?" He set the child down, masking a deep chuckle as the toddler plopped onto his backside and looked up at the hunter with wide eyes. "You didn't wander out of the house again on your own, did you? Your mother would have my hide if she thought I snuck you out."

Ganvird gurgled, another sort-of laugh that made the hairs on Lydros' neck stand up at the same time it made his heart melt. The boy would be the death of him, if he didn't get him home. Amfirth wasn't the most gentle person when a cub of hers was missing. "Fallo'd Innie. Innie not stawp. Gan lost. Loo'ed up. Eebro!" The toddler clapped gleefully, and Lydros fought back the urge to pick the boy up and snuggle him.

"Alright." If there was anything Lydros refused to do around Ganvird, it was drop his words to something simple. No matter how the child looked, Lydros refused to believe the child was dumb. He simply learned in a different manner, and stunting his own words wouldn't help him in the least. "You saw Winnie at your home?"

Ganvird nodded, reaching up when Lydros bent down to pick him up. Lydros grunted as he straightened, chuckling under his breath. "Boy, if you keep getting heavier everytime I pick you up, I'm going to think your mother feeds you stones." There was a shared pause, while Lydros remembered just how badly Amfirth cooked, and then he broke into chuckles. "Ah, never mind. She likely does."

"Ekko!" Ganvird threw his arms up, looking triumphant when Lydros flinched. The name became a constant, slowly progressing in pitch until Lydros clapped one big hand over his mouth. Even then, the boy didn't stop, his hands trying to peel the larger man's away from his mouth, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Boy..." Lydros growled, finally uncovering Ganvird's mouth to tuck him under his arm like a sack of grain, and simply hid the smile that appeared as the child squealed happily. "Fine. We'll see if she's roaming around, but I don't want to hear anything if she doesn't come." The Kaldorei shifted his grip again, throwing the boy roughly over his shoulder, making his way out of the commons and to the front gate. He ignored the odd looks from some who looked concerned as Ganvird squirmed until he was really only being held by one hand, but when not even the guards made a move towards either of them, they looked away.

One of the guards nodded as Lydros passed, hiding a grin of his own as he spotted Ganvird hanging from the hunter's shoulder. "Shall I tell tha family ye'r finally abductin' the scamp?"

"Nonsense. Amfirth would have my head."

"Both o' 'em!" The guard called after them, and they both laughed as Lydros stepped onto the first snow laden step. "Be careful, lad. Tha' snow's been temptin' fate lately. Don' wander too far with tha li'l one."

"Of course. Ganvird, you heard that? Your uncle's telling you to behave and not push me down the mountainside." Lydros turned sharply, and both men grinned when the child squealed out loud, the sound echoing around the gates.

"Ekko! Ekko! Ekko!"

"Yes, yes." Lydros took another careful step, reaching an arm behind to loop beneath the squirming child's arms and pull him around front. "We'll see her. Do you want to call her, or should I?"

Ganvird answered with a gravelly howl, instantly taking off down the stone pathway to break into the snow and flop down onto his face. A moment passed where even Lydros sucked in his breath, and then the child flipped to his back and howled again. Lydros shot an apologetic look at the guard before setting off after his child friend, chuckling when he approached.

"I'm not certain you'll get her like that. Maybe you're on to something, though. Why don't you stand on that wall over there, and howl your little heart out?" The hunter masked his grin once more as Ganvird rolled to his front and pushed himself up with his hands, all but running to the wall and belting out the loudest howls he possibly could.

Lydros never wanted to disenchant the child. It was possibly his one weakness when it came to Ganvird. Perhaps it was something that would linger with any child, but Ganvird was the only one he ever spent any time with. Watching the child stand on the wall, he wanted nothing more than for his beloved companion to answer him, and not the carved whistle that he kept hidden away until he was certain that Ganvird wouldn't notice. The sound would never carry to human ears, and so he could blow it without Ganvird ever being the wiser. For now, at least.

Like the howling that Ganvird was managing, he knew the sound would echo around the mountains, audible as a scream to the one it was calling to. He wasn't really expecting the wolf to respond. It had been months since he had last seen her, or even called to her, but he felt that there was simply something that never really died when you had to say goodbye. Battle had injured his companion, and instead of continuing to put her in harms way, he had accepted it when she had heard the call of the pack, and made her way from his side. He could still see the way she had paused just before the spot where the path to Ironforge began to dip downwards, looking back at him as if saying a goodbye that she could never speak, and then vanished into the storm.

Echo had been so very lucky to live through the demon attack that had taken her right eye and left a ragged scar on her flank. As much as he wanted to keep her with him, it felt cruel to simply let her stay in a stable. The wolf loved the thrill of the chase, the joy of the hunt. To keep her locked up was like chaining a pheonix to the ground. Even though he knew all of that, it had still hurt like nothing else to watch her walk off. His stomach churned when he recalled just how much alcohol he had consumed to forget that farewell in her amber eyes.

The hardest part of the path he had chosen was remembering that, no matter how tame they seemed and how loyal they could become, his companions were truly wild animals. It took one of them turning on him and attacking, or running from him like a skittish deer, to truly remember such a simple thing. He'd forget it all over again when he recalled moments of reclining against a broad side, or losing consciousness with one of them standing over him, always making him feel like they were more than just animals.

Ganvird, in all of his eagerness, reminded him of why he loved what he did. The sheer joy of seeing a comrade, the thrill of that first bond of trust. Echo had been one of the first, and he could remember the nights spent with her, howling at the moon while she looked on like he was a lunatic. Ah, to be young once more.

Minutes passed with no sound, and Lydros had tucked the whistle into that pouch again when Ganvird squealed from his perch. The toddler swayed in a way that made Lydros worried he might go over the edge, but he knew he was perfectly safe.

"Ekko! Ekko!"

Lydros stepped closer, and found it impossible to not smile. No wonder she hadn't responded! While Ganvird skipped past to greet the female, Lydros marveled at how well she had clearly been doing. Her scars were almost impossible to see beneath a coat grown thick to keep her warm, still that shade of silver-flecked white. She still walked with that oddly human swagger, as if she knew just how to own the places she walked. Lydros found that he wouldn't be all that surprised if she was an alpha on her own, despite her wounds.

Four yipping pups followed in her steps, jumping from one paw print to the other, only to vanish in a puff of snow, and then reappear again. Sometimes, they would hop too quickly, and there would be a short series of yips and barks that heralded a fight, and she would stop, this magnificent mother, and simply stare. In seconds, there would be silence, and then she would walk again, and the train of pups would follow.

The pups were new. The time before, it had been her alone, and she had carried Ganvird as if he were a mighty warrior. Perhaps she was no sleek nightsaber, and no grand gryphon, but for Ganvird, she was all of that and more. They had played for hours, until Ganvird had curled up against her in weariness. Now, he seemed as eager about the new additions as Lydros did.

He sat in a pile of snow, ignoring how it sunk into the leathers he wore, and simply waited for the female wolf. Just like Lydros had taught him to do, to wait until they had approached. When Lydros moved to sit behind him, he didn't move at all. Echo approached first, and Lydros realized that she carried another pup in her jaws. How he had missed this one, he had no real clue. The pup was as jet a black as his siblings were white, his pink tongue vibrant as it lolled out of his mouth. Like his mother, however, his eyes were a dark amber, and just as intelligent.

While the other pups lingered just behind Echo, the female wolf wasted no time in gently dropping the dark pup directly into Ganvird's lap. There was a moment of silence, and Lydros knew he was holding his breath as the two children simply looked at eachother. For both, it was a moment of shock and not entirely understanding. For Lydros, it was a moment of terror. The pup could seriously wound the boy, even on accident, and Ganvird wasn't able to defend himself as he could if he were older.

"Wha' do I do, Eebro?"

The moment broke for him as the boy did what he had never done before. Asked for help. While Lydros had been considered an adult among his people when he had taken up the path of the hunter, he remembered vividly that first moment of a bond. He leaned over slowly, taking the child's deformed hand in his own, and moving it to the pup's snout. While doing so, he examined what he could of the stunned pup.

"Let her," Lydros was glad that the pup's fur wasn't so long as to make that a more tedious fact to discover, "smell you. Like you let Echo, when you first met her." He removed his own hand, keeping himself nearby just in case. Nothing would wound him more than having to hurt a pup that became startled, or having to explain to Amfirth that he had allowed harm to come to her child.

"Eebros! Look!" Ganvird's good hand formed a point, moving gently in the direction of one of the pup's paws. Lydros' brows nearly lifted completely into his hair when he realized just what held the child in such thrall. Hearing it from the boy himself almost made him tear up. "Eebros, like me! Pup like me!"

Echo simply looked on while the dwarven child squirmed with the realization. Lydros himself felt something that bordered on near respect for the wolf. He knew the laws of the wild, and knew that only the strongest would survive. That the pup had lived so long already with its own deformity, with a paw that must have made the birth horrendously hard on Echo herself as well as the pup, was a sign of incredible strength on the pups part.

But to have Echo hand over her own pup, as Lydros realized that she was doing, spoke far more of the intelligence and trust that the wolf had for her former companion and the 'cub' of his own that she had played with. He had no doubts that the pup would have been left to her own devices once she was old enough, and he knew that it would always be just a bit too slow, just a bit too lame, to secure any rank at all in the pack that she would belong to.

The pup would be shunned, and so she had been brought to a place where she would be safe and loved. In that moment, Lydros realized that Echo had never considered him as a master or another simple companion. He was pack, through and through. He was safety, and trust, and a thousand other things that she would never be able to say, but her actions screamed it. More than seeing Irial not long ago, more than his acceptance of his views of Winnie, that simple fact brought him to his knees.

As the pup warmed to Ganvird, they progressed from shy exploration to avid learning. The boy found himself quickly bathed in warm and affectionate laps of pink tongue on his cheek and lips, and black snout buried in his vibrant red hair, with no prejudice given to his own deformities. In return, he was more than happy to tumble about with her, even chasing as the scamp yipped and limped off a bit, lowering her front and wagging her tail with such vehemence that her entire body shook with it.

One by one, the pups came close to sniff at Lydros' extended hand before losing interest and going off to chase their sister and new playmate. As they found themselves alone, Echo soon made her own way to the one she had once roamed the wilds with, nosing at his jaw in that affectionate manner she had always reserved for him. Lydros laughed, wrapping his arm over her shoulders.

"It seems you and I can find the answers to any problem but our own, girl." They sat in silence, watching the cubs and boy rough and tumble as if they were not of two completely different lives, and as if there was nothing but their own world to see. Snow piles became vast mountains, or things to chase each other into. A twig became prey, something to chase when flung from Ganvird's hand, and Ganvird himself became a wall they could climb over only to tumble off onto the other side. The magic ended only when all six of them, pups and boy alike, lay in a heap of leather and fur, panting and yawning more than two hours later.

Somewhere in that time, Echo had curled around behind Lydros, her muzzle on his thigh while his cloak covered both of them. The snow had begun to drift down from the clouds, and Lydros recalled the warning of the guard earlier, but he was loathe to leave the company of one of his dearest friends. Only when she lifted her head to lick at his cheek in that chiding manner did he bother to move. "Alright, alright..."

They stood together, both making their way to the pile of warm bodies, and slowly picking their own. One by one, the pups roused to sleepily walk back to their mother, all but the black one. As sleepy as he was, Ganvird audibly whimpered when he saw the dark pup begin to move back towards Echo. Lydros lifted a hand to cover the boy's own, slowly pushing it down. For a moment, no one moved. Amber eyes met, and things were spoken without a single sound.

The snow began to fall faster, and once again Lydros was faced with that pang of loss as Echo paused just before the path would turn downwards. One by one, the pups went over the edge, and as a flurry blinded their sight, so too did she vanish. The dark pup scrambled after her, and fell not far from where Echo had disappeared. There was a whimper, a whine, and then the howl.

Not from the pup, but the strong and rich howl that had been a song to which Lydros found himself falling to sleep with. Over the hills it echoed, cutting through the storm to embrace the three in it's warmth. Echo howled, and one by one, the voices of her children rose to meet with her own. At the last, it was Ganvird and the black pup who sang together, his innocent and gravel-like howl carrying just as far as her own did.

When it ended, when Echo's namesake had died from around them, and all the pups had at last fallen silent, Lydros lowered Ganvird and watched as the pup limped back to him, accepting his arms as home.


	26. Chapter TwentyFive: Spoonful o' Sense

Ganvird was far past asleep in Lydros' arms, the pup tucked between the boy and his own chest, when he finally made it to the residence that Winnie's family held as their own. Carved into the cavern, an entire wall was riddled with windows and balconies that housed the large amount of adults and children that carried the name as their own. Simply looking up was enough to make the hunter dizzy, and he knew that Winnie's own apartments were somewhere near the middle, but he dared not glance that way just yet.

The common room of the house was large, furs piled in front of a fire that burned merrily inside of a decorated fireplace. The mantle had been carved long ago by the very first of the Flamebraids, or so some of them liked to claim. It was a mass of Titan runes, and though Lydros had his own ideals about just how long ago such might have been carved, he kept them to himself in their company. A few chairs were scattered about, short and not much in the way of comfort for the hunter himself, but he was more than pleased to see that this time, the family seemed to be in greater number.

On the far side of the commons was the first set of stairs to what was the living quarters. Rumor had it that when the cavern was first carved, they had only the few rooms on the bottom floor. As the family grew, everything was built upwards into the ceiling. Lydros himself had been no further than the third floor, where the guest quarters were placed. As the family had grown, and rivalries within the ranks had begun, they had started to build the rooms into small apartments for themselves. The second floor were simply bedrooms, long since set aside as simply birthing rooms or sick rooms. They had no windows at all, barring them from the commotion that would be happening outside their window if they did.

The higher one went in the home, the larger and more detailed the rooms became. At the top-most floor, the floorplan supposedly held even enough room for the gryphon roost. No one truly confirmed such a thing, and Lydros couldn't understand housing animals inside ones home, but the rumors were there nonetheless. The Flamebraids, he had learned, were very fond of their rumors, and the women of their gossip.

He was not surprised to see Old Mirna seated closest to the fire, her once radiant red hair now white with age and bound close to her head in a braided bun. The withered dwarven woman huddled beneath her blankets even so close to the flames barely moved her eyes from the fire to the area around her when the room started to sound out with cries of surprise and joy. Dishes clattered in the kitchen off to his right, and he had already prepared himself for the tongue lashing he might receive when the ones who practically lived in the room finally made their way out.

For the most part, there wasn't a single slender and wiry Flamebraid female that he could name. He knew some elven women who envied the dwarven girls their bodies, and knew a fair few of the women in this very household who practically flaunted that fact around. The three who emerged from the kitchen were what he supposed was the pinnacle of dwarven beauty, and though they were sisters born from the same mother and father, they couldn't have been more different.

Sorirth managed to appear first, though he was certain there was a reason for it. If his affections for Winnie were uncomfortable, Sorirth's blatant enjoyment of watching him squirm around her was drop dead awkward. The only unmarried daughter in the family, aside of Winnie, the woman fairly oozed sexual appeal and was quite keen on making sure her best talents were properly displayed. While none of the women truly attracted him the way Winnie did, he still found it hard to look at the raven-haired woman without a sense of unease. Dressed in shirts that were cut low to accentuate her large bust and pants that were scandalously tight, Sorirth seemed more like a Goldshire girl than a respectable dwarven lass.

Elastyia was second, her own red hair bound in a severe bun that managed to suit her. The priestess very rarely laughed or even smiled, her robes of the faith completely pristine even after spending time in a house filled with those who worked the anvil and dug in the earth. Her bright eyes were constantly narrowed on everyone, and it was she who was the most vocal about how wrong it was that Winnie and Lydros spent any amount of time together.

The final one to push her past through, despite her friendly demeanor and general acceptance of Lydros, was the one he feared the most at the current moment. She stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, glaring up at him with all the heat of the fire now playing along his back. Lydros cowered under her deep breath, his long ears flicked back like a scolded puppy, but he could find no words to appease the redhead.

Amfirth let her gaze unsettle him for a few more moments before finally speaking, blowing crimson hair out of her eyes with a breath. "Skill-less, is she? Lad, I hope ye know jus' how much ye hurt tha girl with y'er idle words, or I mi'ht jus' have ta kill ye myself." The stocky woman stepped close enough to hold her hands out for her son, a brow shot up into her hairline when she discovered the pup as well. "Ligh'. Ye bring meh back another mouth ta feed as well? More trouble than ye be worth, ye lon' eared bastard. Gavin!"

The yell was directed up the stairs, and it wasn't long until a dark-haired dwarven male appeared, his leathers still dusty from the road, and blood in his beard. Stone-grey eyes wandered the room, lighting on Lydros and then the pup herself. "Eh? What've ye got there?" The man strode over to the elf, and reached a hand up to grab the wolf pup by her scruff. "Lame, eh? Better ta be drownin' tha weak ones, ye know."

"Over my dead body." Lydros didn't even register that he had said it until he realized that the entire room was looking at him, and then there was a moment of awkward silence as he handed over Ganvird to his mother. "That pup was a gift to Gan. It's no business of yours to be drowning her." His eyes narrowed as Gavin took to inspecting the pup closer.

"Hum. Been weaned, 'as she?" The dwarf stroked his beard, turning his hand so the dangling pup was looking at him with those expressive eyes. "Silen' little thin'. Half expected ta be bitten at leas' once or twice already. Hmph." As if tempting fate, he brought the pup closer to his face, and sputtered as the little thing licked at his crooked nose. "Bah!" Gavin held the pup out to Lydros, giving it a careless look before turning away. "Perfe't fer the scamp o' yours, Am. Let 'em both be lame together."

Amfirth all but glared at her brother as the man ascended the stairs again, grunting with each step. "Shouldae known it'd be a bad idea ta be askin' him fer help. Light help me, lon' ears. Ye'd think I'd have learned ta trust ye and ye'r mind after all ye been doin' with Winnie." She brandished a wooden spoon at him, amused as the pup licked at the utensil. "Min' ye, I still don't like what ye said. Ye've a better head than tha, and ye better 'ave a damned good reason fer makin' her little more than a tempest." She eyed the pup a moment longer before jerking her head towards the kitchen. "Bring tha fleabag inta the kitchen, and I'll feed tha lot o' ye."

"Scoot! Be gone, ye vicious hags. Off ta yer men an' yer prayers." Amfirth shot her younger siblings a look that might have withered Deathwing himself, and the two made no squabble about getting out of her way. As Mirna had sunk more and more into senility, Amfirth had risen quickly in the eyes of her peers as the true Matriarch of the family, despite not being the oldest. Kalitta was rarely at home, caught up with her obsession with artifacts and history.

The kitchen was a large affair, compared to the rest of the home. Where he was made to stoop in other rooms of the home, including his own quarters, in this one he could stand at his full height and still have room. The dwarven woman poked her spoon at a chair in the corner, situated beside a sack of potatoes that looked as if they had been amidst being peeled just moments ago. Without even asking, he sat and took up the knife that had been used, slowly cutting the peel in one continuous strip while the woman worked.

"Been a lon' time since I saw Winnie cry, ye know." Despite her fierce exterior, the gentle tone she spoke with now was almost sad. "After Da died in tha' accident, we went through tha anger, and yellin', and Light knows every emotion tha' could be thought up. Never once did tha girl just cry.

Oh, I seen her do a number o' other thin's. Sometimes, I wonder if she's all there in tha head, ye know? She's never been so angry tha' she's ignored Gan totterin' off after her. This time, though..." Amfirth set her son down on the counter, pushing his hair from his eyes as he rubbed the sleep from them. "I know ye think ye be doin' tha right thing by her, Lydros, I do. Even knowin' tha, I think it's time fer tha girl ta stay here an' get a life tha' fits 'er better than chasin' dreams."

Lydros paused in his peeling, glancing at the pup who sat uncertainly in his lap, sniffing at that single coil of peel. After all that they had been through, giving up Winnie seemed to be the hardest thing. Hadn't it been that very thought that made him quail under what he had said? He hadn't meant to hurt the girl, hadn't meant to bring her past a point that even a death couldn't bring her to, but he couldn't bring himself to agree with Amfirth. For the first time since meeting the headstrong elder sister, he actually felt repulsed.

"She was never happy here, Amfirth. She drank, got into trouble, and tried to act like a boy. Mirna had given up on getting her a proper husband, and Winnie has proven time and again that she doesn't need to fall into the same pattern others continue to try to shove her into. I mean no disrespect," he paused to hold the pup up as the woman turned to take it, "but I don't think that what you want is necessarily what she wants."

"I see ye'r point, Lydros. We've been fairly stubborn in tryin' ta get her ta just... be what we want. We were hopin' tha' maybe, if she went with ye..."

"That she'd show skill or calling in something. I know. Do you think she doesn't want the same thing? What I said to her was out of... pain. I knew it was wrong the moment it was said, and I regret it more than I can put words to." With a flick of his wrist he sent the peel into the barrel for it, tossing the potato into another.

Amfirth said nothing for a long time, and they continued their odd jobs while simply feeding off of the silence of the other. For her, it was time to watch how her son and his new friend interacted. She was glad that, when everything was said and done, the boy had found someone who saw no fault in him. Who didn't care how he looked or sounded, and she nearly prayed that it would remain that way for some time.

His mind was far from the child and wolf pup now, considering Amfirth's words and how they conflicted with his desires. He knew that the elder sister meant well and wanted only the best for Winnie, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had slighted the entire family by making Winnie face the fact that, no matter how much they had hoped otherwise, she was the black sheep among rams.

Yet it was that very thing that made her so irresistible. The fact that she had kept going despite all the signs that she'd never be as good as others, never fight like them, never heal like them, never fit in any one role like they could. He had faced this in his mind before, been appalled by the fact that he could find her mind attractive and know he was not interested in her body, and now the entire thing only made him feel more confusion than ever before.

Irial wouldn't leave his mind, so sure as he was that it had been her in the Commons. In the darkest part of his heart, he knew that what he felt for the woman that had once been his mate could never be replaced by anyone, not even Winnie. It was an untouchable piece of him that held memories and love that could never be rivaled. Somehow, he felt as though keeping Winnie away from him would be the wisest course of action, just in case.

But that would be admitting cowardice, and breaking promises. Winnie had helped him past Irial, and he had given his word on that. Why, then, did all of that seem to not matter anymore when faced with a spectre of a former love? He knew that he could never tell Winnie why he believed that his choice to leave her behind would be the better one. He could never look her in the eyes and tell her that he was seeing ghosts.

And just like that, he began to worry if the Nightmare he had touched so long ago still lingered in the back of his mind, and was only now beginning to surface to torment him once more. His hand gripped a potato so hard that it shot from his hand, striking a cast iron skillet that fell from its rack and clanged to the stove with an earsplitting racket.

"Oh, fer the love o'..." Amfirth was there in a moment, yanking the peeler from the stricken elf and clouting him once on the head before turning back to her startled son and cowering pup. "No breakin' tha kitchen, ye oaf." Her brown eyes watched the man for a few moments more, a brow raised. "Lydros, ye look li'e ye've seen a ghost. Worse than tha' time ye managed ta drink Winnie under tha table, I daresay."

When that didn't manage to bring a grin to his lips, she sighed and went back to cutting chunks of meat into small enough pieces to hand to her son, who in turn handed them to his companion, giggling happily as she cleaned his palm with her tongue between tidbits. "Ye know, I keep sayin' tha' we need ta fin' tha girl a good man, an' settle 'er down. Then I remember tha' tha girl has always had bigger dreams than tha', and if we aren't jus' tha ones tryin' ta bring her down ta our level."

Lydros made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his hands rubbing at his face. Quite suddenly, he felt as if all the strength he had managed to keep when playing with the child had just seeped from him and raced into the stone. His legs felt heavy, his shoulders tight and bowed with the weight of a burden he couldn't name. "I'm sorry, Amfirth. I must be more tired than I thought. I'm not quite capable of keeping up with your wit."

"Ha! Wit, indeed. I won't have ye doin' a nosedive inta the potatoes, lon' ears. Get yerself ta bed, before I have Sorirth help ye." She smirked as the elven man rose quickly and left, cracking his head solidly on the doorway. His muttered curses could have made dwarves themselves blush, and she heaved a heavy sigh when he vanished from sight. "Ye know, scamp..." Amfirth picked her son up and plopped him in the chair Lydros had just vacated. After a moment, the pup was placed at his feet with a plate of scraps. "One o' these days, we'll fin' out what ta do with tha both o' them."


	27. Chapter TwentySix: On The Road Again

**AN: **We're gonna leave Lydros and Winnie to their own devices for a little bit, and focus on Tria and her friends. I really feel that these two haven't gotten as much as they deserve, though that's mostly because I am being extremely fail in updating, and I'm really sorry for that.

Leybright makes an appearance out-of-game where I can develop her a bit more. She's an extremely complicated character who will be quite confusing at the best of times, and I feel that she's a bit different from the others in that she's... well, she's a real wench some days. We get a good view of this here, along with what looks to be some things wrapped up on Tria's side.

I've found myself actually fond of Hana'rae. While I don't see her appearing much in Fang and Spell aside from a few appearances as Tiroth's assistant and close friend, I'm seriously considering some side stories involving her. Then again, I think I'm fond of all of them. Bah. I'll never have time for sleep!

* * *

"I don't understand. Why apologize?"

There were only three in the room, two more standing outside in quiet discussion while the others spoke. Triadae sat on one of the chairs, Miralai sleeping soundly on her lap. Even now, though the child had been there for hours already, she found it hard to relax, terrified she might drop the girl and she'd shatter. Her hands seemed too rough on smooth skin, her body too bulky. Yet Miralai slept without a sound, her breathing even and calm with one hand curled against her chest, the other gripping Tria's tabard gently.

"You deserve that much, after all the wrongs I have done to you."

Tiroth ran his fingers through his hair for what seemed to be the hundredth time since the slender woman had found him. The fear and desperate elation he had felt when first setting eyes on her had now dulled to uncertain disbelief. He wanted to believe that the woman who now held his daughter was someone else, but he knew all too well that this was the woman he loved. For the first time in years, Triadae was as he remembered her, and yet it did not help ease him. For the third time, he sat himself in his chair, his forehead in his hands.

"No spite. No hate. No... anything. Why do I feel, after coming this close, that there will still be nothing more than words between us ever again?"

At this, she chuckled. When the curtain ruffled and opened to admit Yri, she made no move to hand over Miralai. In truth, she was afraid to drop her, but Yri made no comment otherwise, quickly scooping up the girl and leaving the room without a backward glance.

"You always were good at seeing the truth quickly." Triadae stood, glancing over the walls of the room, where pictures and old weapons had been placed in such a way that one simply had to look to see all that the man was proud of. She could feel him move, coming to stand behind her, and she knew that he battled with himself on if he should touch her or not. "It's been too long, Tir. There's too much there between us now, and none of it has ever been your fault."

His hands went to her shoulders, and she lifted a hand of her own to touch his fingers while she spoke. "I will never be able to speak with you and not feel guilt for what I put you through. I loved you, I should have believed you over my sister. I knew how she was... I never should have listened. But I did listen to her, and I brought this down on myself." She sighed, turning in his grasp. "I did love you, then. You were everything to me, and there was so much I wanted." Her hand covered his mouth as he opened it to speak, and her head shook once, firmly.

"No. What we had is gone, and I will not let you try to convince me otherwise. I know you love me, or that you believe you love me. I'm asking you to forget that, and let me simply be what I am now. An acquaintance, someone to help you when you are in need of it. I could not be what you need me to. I cannot be a mother to your child, nor could I be a wife to you. Somewhere in the years I've spent hating you, I've learned that I've come to hate myself far more. I have far more growing to do before I can ever settle down, and even if I do..."

His hand came up to pull hers away, and the pain in his eyes made her heart tighten. She knew he still loved her, no matter how horrible she had been to him. He would have forgiven her everything, if she'd just given him a chance. She couldn't even begin to explain that it wasn't him that she was angry at, couldn't hope that he'd understand fully that she would never be able to forgive herself for all that she had put him through...

… but when he spoke, she knew he'd do his best to believe in her. In her reasons, in her mind, in her choice. Not for the first time, she remembered why she had loved him. For all of his pride, and all of his loyalty to people she couldn't even begin to tolerate, he knew when the best time to retreat was. It meant, of course, that he wouldn't give up on her as she had seemed to do for him, but she had already known that wouldn't be so easy.

"I do have something you can do for me." Reluctantly, he drew away from her to turn back to his desk and pull out a variety of maps, leafing through them until he found the proper one. Triadae followed, standing beside him as he smoothed out the delicately drawn map of Hyjal. "In the last few months, more of those who have dedicated their lives to the efforts of their people have flocked to Hyjal, where their efforts have been needed in the battle against the Twilight Cult and the minions of Ragnaros. I'm sure you remember the open recruitment for the cult a few months past."

She did, and it took quite a bit to keep herself from sneering at the memory. The most she gave him was a nod, moving her hand to hold down one side of the map while he held the other, letting him trace his fingers over the page to point out landmarks while he spoke.

"You no doubt remember Hyjal from the last time you were there. It has changed a bit, including the spire where Ragnaros has been summoned by Deathwing himself. These are reports from that front," he gestured to a stack of pages, "and none of them are exactly promising. I've had more than enough men and women tell me that they're losing more people to the Cult by joining it than by being killed by it. I need someone to take a few of the best, and find those who are sabotaging us, and gaining power for their master."

Tiroth changed a glance at her from the corner of his eyes, watching her muse over his proposal. "I'd be placing you in charge of a small group. Kalthor could accompany you if he wished; I'd prefer it if we're going to be honest. Despite his choice of profession, he is a quick thinker and can keep a good hold on you if he needs to. I have three others lined up for you, one who you may recall from a long time ago. The other two are emissaries who were volunteered for the job." His hand moved, resting over hers.

"I ask you, because I know you will do what needs to be done. There's no order to bring in prisoners. Those who have defected are to die, as are their leadership. We want them crippled as quickly as possible, and you've always been quick at getting things done." His hand moved, and he took in a breath while he considered. "When you've completed this, you'll need to head to the Highlands. I'll have more for you, then."

"I don't like this." She folded her arms over her chest, watching him. "The last group I led anywhere ended up dead. Scourge," her voice lifted to silence him, and then quieted, "or not, I've never been comfortable since that happened. I lost good people then. But... I will do this for you. Give me the details, and I'll figure out the rest of it on my own while we make our way there."

"Hana will escort you to the Spire. Leybright awaits you there, and will accompany you to Orgrimmar via a mage portal. Gandret Stormhoof will meet you once you reach Moonglade, where he has secured transportation to Hyjal itself for the four of you. I am, of course, assuming you are taking Kalthor with you." He managed a wan smile when she nodded. "As for the last, I have yet to receive their name. They wait for you there, where they've been following the movements of the Cultists. You'll have to ask around for them, I can't give you more than that."

He stacked the maps again, replacing them where he had originally brought them from, and then simply leaned against the desk. "Do you have any idea how hard this is for me, Tria?" He didn't bother looking up, knowing that she had already moved away from him and was making her way to the curtained archway.

"You'll survive. You always do. Give my regards to Mira, when she wakes." She offered one smile, and then she was out of the room, and barely had time for the curtains to fall back into place behind her before she was joined by Kalthor and Hana'rae.

"We'll be leaving as soon as possible. I'm going to assume you're ready to leave, Kal?" Triadae glanced over her friend, not pleased with the way he seemed so run down. Perhaps bringing him was not the best choice. He hadn't seemed to be his usual self since they had left the wolf-girl back in Stranglethorn, and especially since she had told him exactly what she had told Tiroth... in not so many words.

When he only managed a brief grunt in her general direction, she seriously considered telling Tiroth to find another member for her, and then decided against it. If nothing else, she'd find someone willing to help once they were there, and perhaps she could simply shake Kalthor off when they arrived. It pained her to consider it, but she wasn't sure she had the strength to deal with two love-sick men. "Fine. Hana, if you would?"

"Of course. Master Everdawn has filled you in, I suppose?" The blonde smiled when Triadae nodded, her chainmail and plate clinking softly in time with her steps while she walked. "He becomes more and more worried as each report comes in. While he's by no means a main head of affairs in the city, he simply has too much on his plate to be dealing with. I am glad, Tria, that you are helping him with this. Leybright waits for you with the arcanists. We should hurry, given that neither of them are all that friendly with the other, and she is only here and not being strung up by her ears because of the neutrality pact."

While the name itched a very distant memory in her mind, Triadae couldn't place a face. Strange, since she was usually quite good with names and faces.

"That's the one who had her ley locked down, isn't it?"

Tria glanced back at Kalthor, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Been so long, I forget why it happened. Was before the city fell, that much I remember."

"That's correct, Kal. Leybright was stripped from the ley-line after an incident, and she chose self-exile up until very recently. There's no love lost between the Magistrix Etherfair and Leybright, but I suppose that's to be expected after what happened. It's likely best to forget about that, if you're going to be working beside her. While her methods are questionable, and her mind is rather... unstable... she is good at what she does. Regardless of what she believes."

"Murder." Tria's voice was quiet. "I remember now. My father was one of those who oversaw what scrap of a trial there was for her. She killed two people in cold blood, and was caught trying to flee the city. They stripped her of everything, bringing her from one of the most gifted of our time down to a mere shell."

"A shame. We've lost so many... Rommath would have been glad to have someone with her skill, now. But we've all had our moments."

"You would condone murder?"

"No," Hana'rae smiled simply. "Murder is not an answer, but I'm not blind to the fact that what is murder to one is mercy to another. You should remember that, having been one who has dealt with life and death in one hand. How many times were you spurned for giving a man the rest he craved, when his family demanded you make him live despite the loss of an arm or leg, or Light knows what else?"

"Why would they simply strip her of her magic, if she was convicted of murder?" Kalthor muttered under his breath as he stumbled over a crack in the pavement, quickly catching up to the two women. "People have been exiled or killed for far less. Letting a murderer walk free seems... off."

"There were those who took pity on her. They say she was so sure of her guilt that she would not speak a word in her defense, not for or against. My father was one of them, I remember. I was very young, but I remember him speaking to Mother about the entire thing. Said that he would have expected worse than death in her place. I never understood. I don't think I can... My hands aren't clean, but I've come a long way and have never killed an innocent."

"Perhaps you will have a chance to ask her." Hana'rae stopped walking, gesturing to the gilded ramp that led up to the Spire and the arcanists themselves. "You'd best hurry. I'm afraid I'd expect the whole Spire to go up in flames. You know the temper Etherfair has, especially now that she's managed another child with her husband."

Kalthor snorted. "Why anyone would want to breed with that hag, I'll never understand."

"Well, some don't enjoy chasing dreams their entire lives, and will settle with whatever will lay still enough." Hana'rae grinned.

"I'd take a corpse over that shrew," he retorted, turning a glare on the blonde.

"Enough, you two. You can continue your flirting when we return, and not a moment sooner." Triadae ignored the glare Kalthor turned on her, offered a brisk wave of her hand to the female paladin, and then began the ascent of the ramp, fully aware that Kalthor stalked – though it was more of a childish stomping – behind her.

They were nearly to the room that contained the portal and arcanists when they both felt the pulse of ley that heralded a brewing spell. This was accompanied by an unholy screech that grated on their ears, and Triadae stepped through the curtains to an image that would have made most simply boggle. How this was going on under the noses of those who were the leaders of their people was absolutely beyond her.

Neither Triadae nor Kalthor were any stranger to Escalia Etherfair. The Magistrix had once been quite powerful in her own right when they had been High Elves, but now her title was more for posterity than actual use. The demonic taint they had all partaken of had warped her own magic, turning it back on her and crippling her. Once beautiful, she was a twisted thing that was prone to using too much glamour-magic and not nearly enough silence.

Nor were they that unfamiliar with her potent temper and creative language, much of which was being spewed at a figure garbed in robes of white and gold, with a deep hood that left little of her face to be seen aside from full lips that were currently pulled a mocking grin. Around her shimmered a shield of protective holy magic, and from the names she was being called by the angered Magistrix, they both had no doubts on who instigated what.

"I'm a little surprised your husband was willing to try again, but I suppose the mistakes of the first can always be prevented in the second, no? Perhaps this one will be twice the wretch your first was..." Leybright stifled a yawn, waving a hand in a disinterested manner. "I wonder how many bags it takes to get him to bed you. I'd say three. One for each of you, and a third for the poor mana wyrm you keep in your horrid company."

"Out! Murdering little harlot!" That swell of power came again and died, her voice cracking in rage. It was no wonder the others were cowering against the walls, looking caught between Sargeras and Deathwing on their choices. "When I get my hands on you, you'll be nothing more than a little smear on the bottom of my slipper!"

"Harlot? Ha!" Leybright examined her nails a moment before her hands vanished into her bell sleeves again. "It was your harlot who ended up on the bottom of my shoes, don't you remember? Her ashes, at leas -"

"That's enough." Though she had no desire to get between the two, Triadae wasn't about to have Kalthor die from lack of air, so desperate was he to not fall over laughing. "If you're done causing problems, Leybright, then we should be on our way before more than a book is lit on fire."

"My, my. Is that precious little Tria I do spy? You've grown into quite a lovely young woman, no doubt your parents are so very proud of you." Leybright strode to her, lifting a hand to grip Tria's chin in her hand. "I was so very fond of your father, after his favor. How has he fared, all these long years? Your mother, as well."

Triadae jerked her chin from her grasp, her eyes hard. "My kin have been dead many years. We are not here to catch up on old times, as bare as I remember them. The last I saw of you, you were being led from the city under suppression. Things have changed in that time."

"Indeed." The woman's voice held a hint of sadness beneath the malice she openly showed towards the Magistrix. Her eyes, faint pinpoints of green beneath her hood, left Triadae to fall on Kalthor, and her grin widened once more. "What an incredibly handsome young man. Here I thought I was being called for work, and they've given me a plaything..." She swept past, winding an arm around one of Kalthor's own, her voice dropping into a sultry purr. "We will have such fun, I promise."

"Oh, please." Triadae rolled her eyes, motioning for two of the cowering mages to start making the portal that they could travel through. "When we arrive in Orgrimmar, we're to set out immediately for Moonglade. If there's something you wish to pick up on our way on the through, you'd best do it quickly or I'll leave you behind." The portal opened before them, and Triadae motioned for Kalthor and his arm candy to walk through before her.

When the two had vanished and Triadae was about to follow, she heard the voice in her mind more than in her ears. _"Kill her."_ She paused, looking back at the Magistrix, who was focused on her despite looking beyond worn out. _"Kill her, and I'll make certain you want for nothing in your life, ever."_

Triadae held the woman's gaze for a few moments longer before she sniffed, and stepped through the portal, and Silvermoon faded behind her.


	28. Chapter TwentySeven: First Stop

Though they had been in Orgrimmar only a month past, it felt as though more time had passed. Crowds that hadn't been present before now pushed at them in the streets of the cities, and Triadae found her patience waning with the setting sun as every step was accompanied with a complaint from the elven woman who hadn't released Kalthor since they had first met. Where she had first just focused on stocking her supplies and making certain that her armor and weapon were at their finest, now she had turned her focus elsewhere in hopes that it would drown out the rest.

Beside her trudged her valiant hawkstrider, his reins twined around her hand and through her fingers, their packs thrown over his back and saddle with a careful disarray, as much as one could manage it. Twice she had paused to keep a lopsided and poorly packed satchel from tumbling off the others, muffling her discontent with Leybright's behavior behind a wash of canvas and rope. She wasn't sure which bothered her most; that she had to stop at all to redo what should have been done in the first place, or that Kalthor didn't stop to help her.

By the time they finally met with the Tauren who oversaw the Moonglade portal, sunset was turning the cliffs of Orgrimmar into a dazzling display of scarlet and gold, and she had lapsed into a stubborn silence that would not break. She was careful to keep her features neutral, and if not that, at least make it seem like she was focused on her plans for their mission, instead of becoming more and more upset with Leybright's coy laughter and Kalthor's indifference.

"Easy, Tikros." Her hand lifted, inching fingers beneath the feathers over the hawkstrider's brow, feeling his uneasy shift against her. As beloved as the bird was to her, he did not cut the splendid figure that Ruusos did. It was an unfair comparison, Ruusos with his snow-driven plumage and gold-trimmed armor. Tikros was simple, his coloring a dusty grey-black, but he was the best to bring when there was the possibility of needing to move much with little time to do so. He was sturdy, slow, and obedient. All that she cared about, at the moment. All she needed.

Triadae turned to speak to the two, but found there to be no need for it. Like a nobleman with his adoring entourage, Kalthor faded through the portal without so much as a backwards glance or a thank you. It took every bit of her control to not simply turn around and find the first flight that would go to Moonglade instead, or to request the assistance of a mage who would return her to Silvermoon. Without a doubt, Triadae found herself regretting her choice to have her friend accompany her on this favor. It had been so long since she had slighted Kalthor, she had forgotten just how bitter he could be.

She tightened her grip on Tikros' reins and nodded to the Tauren who had said nothing the entire time, though he certainly looked like he might speak now. If he did, she heard nothing more than the clang of armor and the distant churning of the newly installed elevators before it all melted into nothing more than a memory. Orgrimmar faded, sand and stone, reds and golds, all of it becoming nothing compared to the quiet of Moonglade.

The warrior was never really certain just how it always managed to be so peaceful in the town of Nighthaven, especially with the countless druids that milled about on their various duties. Her own trips to the haven were relatively few, sometimes managing to peel from her duties to enjoy the events of the Lunar Festival, or take the time to fish in the lake that took up a good portion of the middle of the area. Time like that had been rare in the beginning, and even more so now. Perhaps when she was done...

"This place reeks of beast." Leybright sniffed, her white robes colored green by the moonlight that came through the dense canopy of trees. Kalthor's face, already pale, took on a sickly hue in the light. Triadae passed them both, choosing to ignore the callous comment and inwardly hoping the wardens and druids nearby, many of them wandering around with four paws, thick manes, and claws made for tearing. Light help her if they had short tempers.

"We're not here to cater to your refined senses, Leybright. If you move quickly, we'll be gone from this place before you suffer anymore slight to your sensibilities." Triadae paused to glance back over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. "And if you would carry yourself with some dignity, instead of having yourself draped on his arm like a common tart, I would be most appreciative."

She watched Leybright quirk a grin, the same that had been flashed towards the Magistrix that she had been hitting every visible button on, and Triadae realized with painful clarity that she had handed her a weapon that the woman would use at any moment she deemed worthy. Swallowing the bitter pill, her eyes went to Kalthor, expecting some measure of sympathy and finding none. This enraged her, and she turned fully to hold out the reins of her hawkstrider out to him. "Take Leybright and make your way to the dragons. I'll find our contact myself, and will meet you there."

She detested that momentary pause before he took the reins with careful practice, not even daring to touch her, and for the smallest fraction of a moment she craved to grab his hand and plead with him until the wall that he had built came down. Until the coldness was gone, and he would laugh with her again. She had believed that he would be alright in the Spire, where his mirth at the argument between Leybright and Escalia had given her hope that everything would survive. It was not the first time she had been wrong, and her hand dropped slowly away as her turned his back on her, Leybright moving with the grace of a cat to his side as they left her standing alone.

Not for the first time, she felt the bitter pang of anger at being the one on the outside, as their heads turned towards each other in obvious conversation and she heard him laugh. She knew that she had brought all of this down on herself in telling Kalthor that there could never be something between them more than what they had, but she had wanted to believe that he could accept it and understand that she needed him more as a friend than something that could end up like Tiroth had. Light, she had honestly believed.

Disgust filled her as the two left her sight, and she combed a hand through her bangs in an effort to brush the thoughts from her mind. What was important was doing what she had been sent to do, and she could not do that with thoughts plaguing her about social events and behaviors. She would find the contact they would be continuing with, and then they would be on their way.

As it turned out, finding a Stormhoof was not as simple as she would have hoped. In the entirety of Nighthaven, there resided six individual members of the Cenarion Circle who bore that name, and yet none carried the name she needed. By the third hour of talking to the guardians of the glade, hoping that one of them might know where the one she sought was, Triadae's hopefulness had turned to annoyance, and then despair. With a grudging step, she made her way to the place she had told the others to meet.

It took her a few moments to spot them, given that she expected them to be waiting beside Tikros and not sitting at the well. Even the fact that they were sitting wasn't that much of an annoyance to her, not one to be unkind when they had just waited for her for three hours. But after having just gotten her mind clear of her frustrations while she searched for the one they were looking for, it was a blow to her to see Leybright resting in Kalthor's lap, his arm wound around her back while she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.

It shouldn't have hurt so much, but it did. Especially when she pulled her eyes from the two to look for Tikros not seeing him near them, nor anywhere in the vicinity. Her pain flared into dull anger when she approached, and neither looked to her when she cleared her throat. It took another, and then a resigned sigh, before Leybright turned her eyes on her with all the arrogance of a pampered cat who had spotted a housemaid. "Yes?"

"Where is Tikros?" Triadae gestured with a hand, encompassing the area around them.

The other woman shrugged, and even Triadae couldn't miss the shiver that ran down Kalthor's body as the priestess released a long and bored breath. "I don't know. He likely ran off after becoming bored with waiting for you. You took your time, after all." The green eyes that lingered in the depths of the hood scoured the area around Triadae before she continued. "And I see that you are alone. Clearly, your father's sense of duty did not pass itself down to you."

She ignored the slight, her hand resting on her hip. "He's carrying our things, the same you refused to carry. I doubt that you would allow him to simply wander off with countless gold in supplies, most of which you purchased yourself."

Leybright gave another languid shrug, shifting in Kalthor's arms only enough to breathe in a manner that would have centered the minds of most males firmly on her chest before she simply settled back against him.

"That's not an answer - ..."

"Stop it." Kalthor's voice was muddied, but stern. His eyes left Leybright for the first time since the warrior had approached, his brows furrowed. "It isn't Leybright's fault that your beast wandered off. I'm not a stable master, either. You should have kept him with you. If you want him back so bad, then go and look for him. It's not as if you've reason to come here, when you do not have the one we're looking for."

For a moment, she stood dumbstruck. Her mouth hung open just a bit, lips parted just so, as if she had been struck silent in the middle of voicing a thought. Indeed, her entire mind had ground to a halt. It was a little bit of everything that left her stunned; the empty tone that still carried that hint of disdain, his flagrant disrespect for her as both superior and friend, and the way he could treat her as little more than a meddlesome insect while never batting an eyelash. She had accepted distance, had accepted the wall... but her mind reeled at the thought of accepting this.

The silence was deafening around them, the few who had heard them turning away and focusing their attention elsewhere so as not to seem as though they were spying on the situation only a few feet from them. There were no words, nothing more than the gaze of one being held by another, and yet volumes were being spoken. She had every right to command him, to discipline him and the priestess... but not the heart to do so. Guilt chewed at her, and after moments that could have been an eternity, she broke his gaze first and turned on her heel.

"We'll be here, waiting on you."

Triadae's fists clenched, her entire body rigid as she fought back words that would have made no sense. There were only so many ways to express distaste without repeating herself, and she wasn't even sure she could form those words into a coherent sentence without hearing her voice crack. Ignoring the softly mocking laughter behind her, Triadae relaxed so as not to look as if she was made of stone, and set off in search of Tikros.


	29. Chapter TwentyEight: Gandret and Bru

If the wardens were annoyed by her new question after having been badgered only just recently, they made no sign of it. Unfortunately, they still were of no help to her, though she couldn't find it in herself to blame them. There were many who passed through the glade now, and many of them had mounts of their own. One dull colored bird in a herd of dragons, kodo, and the occasional silithid was like a needle in a haystack.

But when her search had gone unanswered for another hour, and then two, she found she had no real desire to wander back to the other two. In part, because they had already made it quite clear that she was not welcome near them at the time, but mostly because she was afraid she would not be able to control herself if she did. The words that the Magistrix had forced into her mind still beat there strongly, darkly promising, and though she knew that she had every right to feel spurned and scorned, she simply felt guilty.

Guilty, and stupid. She should not have expected it to be so easy, this choice she had made. The fingers of her left hand toyed with the base of her ring finger on her right, more out of frustration than the memory of something, and her eyes went to the place where she knew Kalthor and Leybright still sat and spoke together. To anyone looking at her from the outside, she'd have seemed forlorn and lost. In a way, they would not have been too far from the truth. She was a selfish woman, to have done what she did and expect Kalthor to remain with her as he always had.

But that had never stopped him before, nor had it hurt so much to consider the problem from both ends. In her mind, she wanted to believe that he was simply moving on as quickly as he could. That he had taken her words to heart, and would be working through his pain in whatever manner he deemed worthy. In her heart, however... she had hoped she would not be so easily forgotten, and the conflict between the two, mind and heart, sickened her.

She had begun to walk while thinking, and she did not stop until her boots sunk into ground that was not quite as firm as it had been. Her eyes went up from the floor, taking in the sight of the lake that Nighthaven was situated above. She was not certain on the lore that surrounded such a body of water, but she knew that it really didn't matter to her in the end. It was a calming fixture in the middle of an area that already had plenty of power to ease the burden on someones shoulders. Triadae took a deep breath, felt her chest press against her breastplate, and held it until her lungs burned.

Tikros had been a gift, from Kalthor himself. After a life of horses, she had no real desire to throw down the gold for one of the overgrown chickens, but she hadn't complained when he had appeared in front of her home with the soot-colored bird. She had only fawned over it, and him, thanking him for such a beautiful gift. She could still remember his smile, the way his cheeks flushed with pleasure under her compliments. Looking back, it was so easy to see that he had been in love with her, she wasn't certain how she had remained blind to it for so long.

That he had cast aside his gift, the first gift he had ever given her besides that of his constant and unwavering friendship, burned deeper than watching him be with another woman. She bent down and plucked a stone from the water's edge to roll it around in her hand for a moment and then skip it across the water with a flick of her wrist. A second stone followed, and then a third.

Before she knew it, she was simply bending and throwing, until the most she was doing was sending the rocks a good distance into the air before they splashed into the water. Every bit of her anger and shame seemed to fly with each stone, and she hadn't even noticed that she had begun to cry. Not the heaving sobs she had done once before, but the bitter tears of despair that slipped out only to embarrass the one who shed them.

And she likely would have stayed that way for quite some time, if something large and brown didn't fly over her head to land with a giant splash no more than five feet from her. Triadae found herself caught between gaping at the ripples that remained and focusing on her breathing to calm herself.

"Hmm. Perhaps a little more lift next time." The voice was slow and calm, a deep rumble in the depths of eternal patience. Tria glanced over her shoulder, and found only a broad chest there. Her head tipped back, the rest of her turning to make such a thing more comfortable. "Or, you could teach me?"

His eyes met her own, and she was simply too shocked to speak. It was not the first time she had seen a Tauren male, not in the least. There had been countless who fought on the front against the Lich King, and many more that she could recall stepping foot through the portal. It was only that he had come upon her so quietly, and had not bothered her.

"Unless, of course, you wish to simply continue throwing stones. I admit, you've quite an arm for a little thing like yourself."

She could not tell if he was mocking her or not. She wanted to believe that he was not, but she wasn't sure she could ever believe anything anymore. When he bent to pick up another stone in his massive hand, she took a step back, fully aware of the intimidating horns he bore. "Ah, this one looks like it would suit you well." He held his hand out to her, waiting until she held her own beneath his before he dropped the stone into her palm.

It fit in her hand easily. Like a weapon that had been crafted just for her and only her, she felt the immediate bond of earth to her skin in intimate detail, and the curiosity of that fact actually calmed her and distracted her from all of her troubles. She flipped the rock between her fingers, and found that she didn't really want to throw the rock away from herself.

"No tears. That is good." He smiled, brown eyes glinting at the confused expression she turned on him. "The earth heaves and splits, but the world continues on. Time heals all wounds, the growth will continue, and the cycle goes on. You are like the earth; strong and determined. You must remember that even the earth will bend to the fire of passion, the winds of change, and the tides of longing. However, I admit that I am curious as to what you have become so frustrated by."

"I..." Her brow furrowed as she considered it. All of it seemed so silly now, and not worth the trouble that she had made it seem that it was. But when she looked up at him and saw that he expected an answer that was not one that was simply brushing off all of her problems, she was at a loss of how to form it all in a way he could understand. So she just told him all of it, and found that the more she talked... the better she felt. Everything that made her feel like she wanted to burst, she let go, until it was all out and she was left breathless.

The tauren listened without ever speaking once. If she paused to glance at him, he simply gestured her on, as if he knew she was not finished. When she finally was completely done, he simply turned his head and motioned with his head. "Would your 'Tikros' be that beast, there?"

She followed his gaze, and her mouth dropped as she saw the silver-limned form of her mount bobbing on the surface of the lake, clearly spending his time fishing for a meal with the gentle patience of someone used to hunting on his own. Her face flushed pink, and then she noticed that his saddle sat crooked, and that nothing at all remained there atop his back. She couldn't hope to muffle the groan that escaped her, but she still tried. "Yes. Thank you. I should fetch him before he eats the lake clean."

She spun the stone once more in her fingers before she pocketed it, and made her way towards the swimming hawkstrider. From her lips passed a soft whistle, one that he had been trained to follow, and it was nothing different this time. Tikros' head lifted from the water, a large fish trapped in his beak, and once he spotted his owner on the shore, he turned and paddled back to her. The fish was offered, an attempt at an apology, and the bird remained still as Triadae adjusted his saddle to sit right once more.

When her eyes turned out towards the water again, to where the packages she had labored to keep atop her mount were now bobbing on the silver surface, she was surprised to find the tauren stepping easily across the liquid, lifting each bag and throwing it over his shoulder in a pile that was growing larger. Once more, she was struck completely dumb. At last, the broad-shouldered male made his way to her, looking from her astonished face to the soot-colored bird.

"Here, my friend. Be still, and let us aid the young lady in her endeavor." Slowly, the tauren passed on the other side of Tikros, readjusting straps and buckles as he placed each bag until the bird was once more loaded and ready to go. Triadae was not one to miss the way that the bags did not move in the least, no sound of jingling or clinking coming from within. Tikros made his own pleasure clear with a gulp of his fish, and a rather wet nuzzle to her head that nearly sent her reeling.

"I believe that he will have a much more difficult time shaking off your items, now. Your friend chose wisely when he decided this one would be his gift to you." The bull's large hand dropped gently atop Tikros' head, scratching just above his eyes with a touch that sent the bird into an oddly content coo. "But we should go, Lady Gildedsun. The Twilight wait for no one, and they are becoming a greater threat every day that passes."

"Yes..." She moved a few steps, then stopped so suddenly that Tikros released a startled sound. "Wait, 'we'? I don't mean any offense, Master Tauren, but I've very little time already and too much to do. Too much to deal with someone hanging on me and my peo - … oh, Fel." Her lips pursed, and she released a heavy sigh through her nose that nearly had the bull laughing.

"My apologies." The male bowed, his armor clanking and the two axes on his back threatening to go over his head with how deep he did so. "I should not have kept you waiting as long as I have, especially given the urgency of our mission. I was lost in conversation with the last of our contacts, and wandered far from Nighthaven in my ramblings. I am Gandret Stormhoof, and I am here to aid you."

For a long moment she stood silent, and then her cheeks puffed out and she expelled her breath in one slow motion. Her hand waved idly, dismissing him from his low bow, and she caught the amused flash of his brown eyes out of the corner of her own. "Do not keep me waiting again, Stormhoof. The urgency of this is not worth … all this." She motioned for him to follow her as they walked. "You've already spoken with the last of our group, then?"

"Yes. Bruzju Shadowpath, a Spymaster by trade. Or he'd like to say, at the very least." His long stride kept up easily with her own, his voice a level rumbling deep in his chest. "He has been there for a week already, and claims that we would be best taking our path into the Gorge, instead of meeting with the Druids at the summit. There are barriers aplenty between the Twilight and those who work against them coming down the mountain, and he says that it would be easier to begin our journey from the other end."

Triadae stopped short, her features musing. After a few moments, she turned to face Gandret, and held her hand out to him. "I'd like to speak to him. However you did it." After another moment, she added. "Please."

The tauren rummaged in a pouch on his hip, drawing out an item that was dwarfed by his palm. She knew well enough about the goblin communicators that some used, and found them rather silly given that there were many other options, but she said nothing at all as he offered it to her. "It's directly tied to him. Just push that button – no, the other one, and speak."

Fumbling with the device a bit, she finally managed to cup it between her hands and did as instructed. "Bruzju Shadowpath, my name is Triadae Gildedsun. Do you... read me?"

She closed the connection and stared at the communicator as it crackled in her hands, and then a voice spoke. "'Ey, I 'ear ya, mon. Loudah d'en I be wantin'. Don' hold de t'in so close, ya?"

"Sorry," she muttered, some of her stiffness vanishing under the thinly veiled rebuttal. "Gandret tells me that you've already scouted the surrounding area, and that you believe the best route to take would be through Winterspring. Is this correct?"

"Eh, dat's de right thin' ta be doin', ya. No' dat many on de east side, no' when dey be watchin' de west li'e hounds."

She remained quiet for a few moments, as if considering something complicated in her mind. When she spoke again, her voice was steady and somewhat slow, as if she wanted him to catch her meaning the first time and ask nothing more past that. "Your first order, Shadowpath. I want you to club a few of the lesser ranked ones down and get us their uniforms. Three elves, yourself, and a bull. Kill them somewhere, do it clean. I don't want anything but dirt on that cloth, you understand?"

"Ya, mon. I undahstan' perfe'ly. I be getting' de uniforms for ya, and I be keepin' dem cleana den they be doin' demselves. No worries, mon. Ol' Bruz is on dah prowl. We be getting' alon' fine, I be thinkin'. Jus' one ques'ion, mon." He let static run through the line for a moment, and they heard the keen of a dragon clearly over the speakers. "Whatchu be plannin' wit dese t'ings, eh?"

Triadae grinned up at Gandret. "Something an old friend told me a long time ago. If you can't beat them, _join_ them."


	30. Chapter TwentyNine: Caught!

"I'm not sure which will annoy me more," Triadae groaned as she pulled off her gloves, rubbing sore fingers for a few moments before she knelt and began to unlace the rough leather boots she had been given. "Being asked for the hundredth time on if water is wet by some silly little device, or having to listen to them for the thousandth time." There was no clarification on who she was speaking about, the other two with her seeming to catch her meaning well enough.

She stood and kicked a boot across the heated stone, her hand pushing back sodden hair. Around them, the sounds of coupling echoed louder than that of the training that others near them had taken up. Two and a half months had passed since they had managed to sneak in amongst the Twilight ranks, and it had been only two of those months that they had needed to endure the rampant rutting that went on around them. The first two weeks were only a blissful memory at this point. Only a few things had gone wrong in those first few weeks, but even that was much less than Triadae had expected.

What she hadn't expected was being completely stripped of her weaponry. She had not been the only one, and Bruzju had made it more than clear beneath his breath exactly how he felt handing over all of his hidden blades and toxins. Her own broadsword had been taken and placed away where she had not been able to find it, and Gandret's enormous axes had vanished as well. They had been given nothing else, except the promise that they would have them back, should they prove themselves worthy.

Bruzju reclined against a wall, the flickering reds and oranges from the molten rock around them sending his features into sharp relief. The one weapon they'd been unable to take from him were his tusks, and he had proven himself quite capable of using them if he needed to. While he had been reprimanded for killing his gnomish opponent, there had been some measure of pride that their trainer had lavished upon the seven foot tall troll. "'Ey, dey coul' be doin' much worse den breedin', mon."

"I agree with her, friend." The rock shook beneath them as Gandret lowered himself to the stone with a grunt. "This is not a time for such things. Not when the earth beneath us heaves with such pain." He plucked at his purple gloves, blowing a snort that made his nose-ring jingle faintly. "We've gotten less from our surroundings since they moved us all into these caverns."

None of them had expected to remain in the open, not with the attacks that had become more frequent. Twice, they had woken to find a tent aflame, and had been quick in learning exactly how to douse a fire and then shelter themselves where they could not be found. Nothing could be done when the poison was unleashed, though. That had led their superiors to place them into caverns carved into the rocks around them, hidden and placed in such a manner that one would have to get close to aim inside of one to harm any of those inside. Too close.

The five of them shared a smaller cavern with at least ten others. From the first day, Kalthor and Leybright had chosen a cove that kept others from spying in on them, but unfortunately did nothing to stop the noises that came at all hours. Triadae had remained with the other two on a platform near the back of the caves, one that required a bit of climbing to get to, and had enough room for the three of them to rest comfortably. Sometimes, a gentle breeze slipped in from some unseen place, and cooled them. It was for that reason that Bruzju remained close to the wall, where the current seemed to hug the stone as it passed.

"Maybe they do something else away from the rest of us." With a sigh, she pushed the other boot off with her foot and flopped back against the wall beside the troll. "Maybe they do nothing at all." Her lips turned in a frown.

They had no answer for her, but they could not be expected to answer her all the time. So they sat in silence, until the last moan finally died from around them. It wasn't as if they could think clearly with all of the noise anyway, and while Triadae would have loved to be bitter towards them for their apparent fun, she'd be lying if she didn't admit she wasn't blind to the actions of those in the cave around them.

"Joo be t'inkin' too 'ard on dis, mon." Bruzju's head tilted, and she felt the tip of one of his thick tusks on her temple as he spoke. It was the only way she could understand him when he dropped his voice low as he tended to do, and her eyes dropped half-mast as Gandret shuffled closer and pulled her foot into his lap. It was a ruse they adopted often when they desired to speak, and more than once she had seen someone begin to approach only to think better of it. Usually when Gandret's skilled fingers pressed into a particularly sensitive spot.

Triadae flinched as the shaman found one of those spots, her fist curling into her thigh as she remained still enough to let him rub it out. She knew well enough how she sounded, how the release of pain could sound almost euphoric, and yet she had stopped fighting the treatment and just allowed them both to lead her into the illusion as best they could.

"Eidah ya trus' dem, or joo don't. Dere's no middah groun' dere, pretteh. We don' be knowin' what dey be doin', but if the one be you frien', and you trust 'im..." Bruzju shrugged lightly, and she moved with him. The beads in his hair that held the braids together clicked against each other and were hard against her skin, a brutal difference to the gentle tone that his voice carried. "Gan an' I, we follow joo. If dat means we be makin' enemies outta de ones who be our frien's, den dat be da way de spirits deem it. No worry, pretty. All be fine, Bruzju promise dis."

Despite his promises, her heart had run cold. Triadae had accepted the changes that had gone over with a good deal of grace and dignity. Leybright's snide remarks had become little more than the prattle of someone who was easily ignored, and she couldn't recall the last time looking at Kalthor actually hurt her more than reassured her. Now it did nothing but give her the bitter fear that she had been forced to swallow. The distance between he and Triadae had grown by leaps and bounds, so much so that she couldn't tell even herself what was the truth anymore.

"I don't trust either of them." She felt Gandret's fingers stop pressing into the arch of her foot, showing his surprise more than the impassive gaze he had turned on her. "No matter what they are doing, there's been too little contact between us all to keep them in the loop. We will have to continue on without them, and hope they know what they are doing better than we do." Now the troll had shifted his seating, half his body turned towards her while his broad hand slipped between them both to keep him braced.

"We've seen all that we are able from the outside. We know what they are doing in these camps; training the recruits that they will be sending elsewhere. We know that they've allied themselves with the ogres under Cho'gall, and we know that Cho'gall has himself holed up in the Highlands. If we were able to, I'd say that we should leave as soon as we could and get just that much information to those who could use it." She squirmed in her seating, propping her other foot on Gandret's thigh. "I don't think we have everything, though. We're missing something, but I believe I know where to find it.

They have documents that are passed back and forth between the camps and the various superiors. I've heard mention of even word from Deepholm being brought in those pages. If we can get our hands on those, we can be out of here before we know it. The dragons are waiting, I can see them flying during the day."

"When do you propose we try this? The ogres are constantly patrolling. We'd never get a clean attempt with all of us as busy as they've been keeping us." Gandret set her foot aside to grasp the other one, quickly sending his commander into a fit of muffled, pain-laced moans.

"Ah - … Tomoro-ow!" She tried to take her foot from him, only to found it caught tightly and his eyes focused not on her, but to the side and further in the cavern. Her breath left her in a whimper that sounded more like a plea as she caught the bright flash of fel-fire green eyes and watched Kalthor leave his cove and stride past the three of them in solemn silence. Her gaze left him, and she felt nothing more than grim determination flood her when she spoke again. "Tomorrow. Whoever can get those documents, do it. Don't get caught, either."

They did not speak much longer that night, and Triadae was already alone when she woke the next morning, Gandret's cloak pulled over her in an act that was more ruse and kindness than actual need. Already, she was sweating enough to make her leather armor stick to her skin in an uncomfortable manner, and her hair had joined in the battle, prickling at the sweat-slicked flesh and making her itch. Running a hand through her hair did little more than make her realize that she needed to wash the moment she got the chance, feeling the oil that caked the strands.

Once she was redressed, she climbed down from where they had slept and made her way out into the sunlight. It was not as late as she had believed, the sun still low on the horizon from where it must have risen only three hours past. The hazy smoke that always lingered in the Gorge made it difficult to see when one had just woken up, but by the time she had made it to the long row of tables where she would find the rubbish they considered food, the smoke no longer bothered her.

So the morning passed, and she made her way from food to training, and then to the long lectures that detailed the plans that the Twilight had formulated, and the long hour of worship towards their masters. It was on the path to yet another round of training that she spotted the courier in the throng of acolytes and trainees. The human man, really no more than a boy by even his own race's standards, pulled a handful of messages from a bag at his side and dropped them on a table surrounded by guards before darting off again.

She lost him in the swell of people, and damned herself for it. Now that he was out of sight, he was quickly losing shape in her mind. Was he a blonde, or did he have brown hair. His skin... it looked ruddy, but it might have been fair. Her fists closed at her sides as she pondered her predicament, and then everything seemed to be answered in one moment. A bell rang, and the hulking ogres who guarded the table began to move off hastily. She cast an eager gaze around, already moving to the cluster of tables, and her fingers grazed along the contents of one. Instantly, she assumed the same actions as those who were frequently seen at the tables, the alchemists and earth-binders who summoned the elementals to bind them for teaching.

No one watched her while she bent over the research that others had done, and no one seemed to mind that she was drawing closer and closer to the only thing that mattered in the back of her mind. She couldn't believe how easy it had been until she was actually looking at the missives themselves, daring to break the seals after only a moment of thought and scour them quickly for what she wanted. The first and second warranted nothing more than a quick glance, things she already knew without needing the pages, but the third... her eyes went wide as she read, and she was nearly to the end when she heard the scream.

"Spy!"

Her focus shattered, though her actions could only be seen as groggy as her eyes peeled slowly from the page to alight on Leybright, who stood in her robes of purple and black with a finger pointed directly at her. For a moment, Triadae thought she was only seeing things, and then the ground began to shake beneath her as those who had been called away from the table were now returning – in force.

"Spy in the camp! She's after the plans!"

Leybright's voice was answered by a thunderous roar of other voices rising to take up the cry, and as one crazed cultist lunged at her, she dropped everything and bolted for the only clear path she could find. Around her, tents went up in flame as she passed them, and she could still hear the screeching cry of the priestess alerting the others. She turned abruptly, in time to feel the heat of an explosion take the table that she had just been next to, as well as the group of trainees who had been gathered there. Their dying screams joined the roar that threatened to crash down around her, and yet she knew that if she could only run fast enough...

Then something gripped at her ankle and she fell, heard the snap of something that rocked her body and sent her blood cold, and then the blinding white fire of pain. The ground came up to meet her, and she hit it hard, losing her breath in one cry. Blood welled in her mouth, she felt the sting of opened skin on her cheek, and realized that she had bitten her tongue in her fall. A single jerk of her leg proved that she was not only caught, but that she would not be moving easily again. She dared not look down, not even as her arms were caught up and pulled behind her in the meaty hand of one of the ogres.

"Bring her! You, you were with her that day. The rest of you, here now!"

Pain was already blinding her, and she stifled a grunt of it behind her bloody lip as she was forced to her knees in front of a night elven woman in black armor, her silver hair tied back to show the pale blue skin that was covered elsewhere. Her eyes narrowed on Triadae, the thick-soled boot she wore slipping beneath the Sin'dorei's chin to force their eyes to meet. "Ah, yes. I do remember you. There aren't any with your cut of hair, nor that pretty color. Alas, it's a shame you're little more than the rabble beneath my boot."

The boot went up her cheek until the heel was atop her head, and Triadae blinked back tears as her face was forced to the ground. The snap of her nose was audible in the air, but she dared not let a single cry escape her. "Brave little thing. You four," the woman crooked a finger at those who had accompanied Triadae into the camp two and a half months ago, "you joined with her. Are we to deem you traitors as well?"

Triadae didn't need to see to know that the four stood with faces like stone. She never heard Leybright or Kalthor speak, but both Bruzju and Gandret declined their involvement in her scheme. "She stumbled into our camp along the road in Winterspring, Priestess. We'd never seen her before that. Had we known she would prove to be a spy, we would have killed her that night."

"Indeed." Triadae's fingers dug into the dirt as the woman's heel pressed down more firmly, and then released her. One moment she saw nothing more than the ground, the next she was staring at the sky with her hair twisted into the woman's hand and cold steel against her neck. She dared not breathe, and her eyes turned on her friends and pleaded with them to betray nothing. They held her gaze, and the flicker of understanding in even the depths of Kalthor's cold stare eased her.

"Normally, we would make an example of you by just killing you. Horribly, of course. I tire of those quick deaths, however. Such a pretty little thing... I want to hear you scream. Unfortunately, I don't have the time to do so on my own." The blade moved from her throat and slipped behind, and then she was released in one clean cut. "Take this." The woman held out the long tail of hair that Triadae had kept, "Get her sword from the stores, as well. Send both of them to her people. I wish to make this message perfectly clear to those who would stand against the master."

The woman's fingers grasped tightly in Triadae's cropped hair, dragging her to her feet. She grinned wickedly at her yelp of discomfort as her broken ankle was jogged about. "Oh, I'll get that tended for you. I like to have my victims quite pain-free before I start on them. It does good not to have distractions. Take her to the cages and leave her until morning. You, felcaster..." Kalthor looked to the silver haired woman. "You've done quite well in getting information from those we've captured. I want you to spend however long it takes getting everything you can from her. You'll be watched, I assure you... prove your loyalty with her screams. Should she die before you extract anything... I'll make certain your pretty bedmate is the next one you work on."

An ogre grabbed her again, and she felt the fingers of the woman leave her hair as the brute pulled her off in the direction of the cages. Once the woman was out of her sight, once Leybright's eyes could no longer be seen, and she could not feel the guilt that washed off the troll and tauren in waves, Triadae let herself succumb to the pain, and the blissful unconciousness that came with it.


	31. Chapter Thirty: Madness

Triadae floated. First on a torrent of pain, and then on a sea of contentment, she remained completely unaware of anything but the fact that she was rocking back and forth endlessly. In the distance, she could make out the sounds of moving, of shouts and screams and cries of pain, but only if she focused hard enough. Only if she focused more than she was willing to. Cold steel had warmed to her face while she cowered in the corner of her hanging cage, not wanting anyone to touch her. For the first time ever, one might have thought she was truly broken.

Someone had already visited her while she had been asleep. Her ankle was completely healed, as was a good deal of the rest of her. No longer did her body ache from the beating it had taken when she attempted to flee, but it brought her no amount of comfort. She knew what they wanted from her, and peace was not a gift that they would give willingly. It was far more fun, she knew, to break a person from absolute health and hope.

Triadae relished the thought of it. She wanted to see if they could break her as easily as they thought they could. In her cage, she was the bravest person around. Until she remembered who would be harming her. That much, at least, frightened her. She wouldn't show it as she knew everyone wanted to, but she was going to have to make good on a promise that had been made years ago when they had worked together. It had always been hypothetical, neither of them believing that the other would ever fall to such a level, but both had promised. No matter what, it would be forgiven.

They came for her after another attack, when her mind had finally released itself from the sleepy thoughts it had been hiding beneath, and she registered the rough hands of the ogres on her skin. She remained still, so much so that one of them prodded at her chest and questioned the other as to her state. Smart idiots, those ogres. When she at last lifted her head enough to glare at the one who carried her, they both grinned stupidly and trudged off with her.

Where they took her, she wasn't certain. Her eyes were closed the entire way, not wanting to give them any reason to do something more to her than they were allowed. Let them think she felt fear when she felt none at all, let them think she shivered in remorse when all that she shivered in was anticipation. The ogres took her deep into a cavern, talking between themselves while she simply allowed them to carry her over one broad shoulder, her eyes glazed and watching the ground.

She would say nothing. It mattered not what they did to her, or what they made Kalthor do to her. They could inflict a world of pain on her, and she would stand strong and remain as she always had. For the sake of those who counted on her, who she had brought this far, she would give the ones who chained her nothing at all. But she knew that the bravery she managed on her own would do nothing for her when the time came. She had seen greater men and women than she fall beneath the lash, and she knew that she would face that same thing.

Still, she hoped that all of her bravado would bring them safety. Even now, though she knew the other four would be watched closely, she hoped and prayed to a being that would not listen to her any longer that they were safe. She was ready to die for them, even for Leybright.

Leybright had been a mistake. A horrible mistake, and not simply just because she had jeopardized everything that they had worked for. Combining Leybright with Kalthor had been trouble waiting to happen, and now they all would suffer for it. Yet she felt no anger, no remorse. This was simply how things were done, and how things would be. Triadae no longer cared what went on behind closed doors between those two. In her eyes, both were traitors... but she'd die for the both of them, rather than doom all five of them by calling them out.

She grunted as she was moved, settled roughly on the ground with thick shackles around each of her ankles, a chain strung between them that would not allow her to do much more than shuffle from one place to the next if she were allowed. She would not be, her arms secured above her head with iron chains that were warm from the heat of the cavern she was in. Her head hung, giving the air of one who felt defeat, though it annoyed her greatly. Her sheared hair prickled at her neck, making it uncomfortable and irritating, something she couldn't get rid of.

When the ogres left her there, she threw her head back to get the hair away from her skin, sweat already beading on her forehead. It was the first glimpse of her room that she had gotten, and she was none too surprised to see that the Twilight were not creative at all in their manner of interrogation. All the regular instruments of torture were present that she might have expected. How they had gotten them there was beyond her, but she found that she really didn't care to know, either.

All that was important was that the items were there, and now she was as well. Her head tipped further back, examining the chains that held her. The loop that they had bound the chains to was attached into a sort of socket that enabled her to spin if she wished; or them to spin her if she did not. Not expecting anything fantastic, she dropped her weight and lifted her legs, testing the hold of the loop. As she expected, it held firmly. That much, at least, she could credit to her captors.

She was alone for a handful of minutes more, and by then she had settled herself on an outcropping that just barely reached close enough for her to do so. Her long ears picked up the steady footsteps long before she saw him, but she didn't need to look up to know who it was. Those footsteps had dogged her own for years now, and she knew them better than any other. To mask her deep-seated foreboding, she assumed a manic grin, raising her eyes to meet his face from beneath the fringe of her bangs.

"Eat." It was a command, devoid of the laughter and snide joy that she was accustomed to from the one who had been her friend. A tray was dropped at her feet, filled with things that no normal person would have consumed even if they had been starving. The very crusts of the horrible gruel they served to their ranks. Triadae stared blankly at the offering, and then spat at it and turned that grin back on Kalthor.

"I'm afraid I'm not hungry. You should take that back to your friends. They'll need their strength, after all."

_'Please, Tria.'_ His face didn't change, but she heard the voice in her mind well enough. _'I'm not going to let you starve.'_

She didn't answer him, keeping mind and body silent until he finally turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. The very act of it seemed to clear his mind, though he spun the golden strands through his fingers while he spoke to her. _'They cut your hair. Do you remember when you finally had to cut it after the fire? You didn't say a thing then, either. Whatever is attached to you just doesn't matter, does it? They're going to break you down until you beg, you realize. You will beg, no matter how much you think you won't. This isn't pretend anymore. This isn't us saying that we'll survive. If I let up on you, they'll kill us all.'_

Triadae laughed. She didn't stop the sound until others came into the room, throwing looks between Kalthor and their captive as the one just laughed at the unmoving other. She nearly crowed when she kicked her foot and caught the tray, sending it skittering across the floor and throwing its contents across the bottom of his robes and shoes. When her laughter died away, it was only so that she could fix his eyes with her own, daring him without words.

"So be it." Kalthor turned on his heel, gesturing to two of the newcomers to approach her. They did, and without effort at all, they spun her to face the wall that she had been reclining against. Triadae heard the snap of the whip behind her, but nothing came down on her for another minute or so. The air was thick with more than just heat. It was as if those who watched knew of the relationship between the two, and were waiting for the moment where one of them broke down.

Neither did. Not when the crack of the whip sounded against skin, not when the skin split beneath the blow into a shallow wound, and not when it curled back to his side. There was no agonized cry, only the clink of the chains as she adjusted herself. Her breathing quickened, the only sign of her distress, and the only one that seemed to matter as the whip came down again and again, licking across her skin, finding the bare spots, and searing the flesh with pain that she would not voice.

"That's enough for now, Felblood."

Triadae heard the whip coil on the floor, and tipped her head back as sweat dripped into the fresh wounds. For a reason she could not explain, that hurt far more than any blow on her skin. She shifted, squirming in her bonds as the stinging became searing pain. Delicate fingers brushed along her hips before poking at the lowest of her lashes, and only then did she make any noise at all.

"It's a shame that you're little more than a problem to me." The woman spoke over Triadae's roar of pain, still twisting her finger into the wound. Unknown to the bound woman, the finger was salted, and slowly worked beneath skin. "I had received such promising reports about you and the others who came with you." Her finger withdrew, leaving her captive whimpering and slumped. "I've become quite jaded when it comes to what comes out of this camp, do you know? I half expect the ones they train to trip over their feet and fall into lava before they actually become useful. But you..."

The silver-haired woman gripped Triadae's side and spun her to face the crowd again. With uncanny grace, she turned away and ran a finger along Kalthor's jaw. "This one is very good when it comes to finding out information. He's torn secrets from even the most resilient of commanders. He claims to not know you, and I believe him... I will give you that much. However, I am determined to bring every secret you know from the very depths of your soul. So we will begin simply. The bull and the troll."

Triadae lifted her head just enough to shoot a glare at Kalthor. Each held the eyes of the other, and neither betrayed anything as she spoke. "Met them on the way here. They had no ideas of my intentions. For all they knew, I was just like them." Now she tore her gaze from him, placing it on the slim kaldorei. "Willing to hand the world over to the flames."

"Indeed. It was rumored that they were quite close to you." The woman reached to scoop a handful of white crystals from a tray nearby, letting them sift through her fingers while she let the question hang.

"It's easy to get men to talk if you know the right tactics, wouldn't you agree?"

"Ah. Is that how you've gotten to your place in life? Some would spread their hands in submission, but you'll spread your legs?" Her lips twisted in wry satisfaction as she watched Triadae flush. "Come now. You're too good to have done something like that. A soft bed and gentle touch might get you rank in city politics, but not in a war. Let us try that one again, hm?" Another handful of salt was palmed, and she rolled the grains in her hand while she circled the prone woman.

Triadae struggled mentally, chewing over a response while she considered something more feasible, and came up dry. Silence lingered for an amount of time, until at last her body had begun to tense all on its own in anticipation of what she knew was coming. The woman's hand slid up her side, and crushed her palm against a wound, grinding the salt into the bleeding muscle. Triadae screamed, a long noise that died to a whimpering sob. Still, she could say nothing.

As the minutes passed, the woman repeated her actions on every lash mark, never once hurrying. She was giving the warrior time to respond, time to lie or confess, and was meeting head on with strength that Triadae didn't know she even had. When the blood had stopped, soaking into the crystals, and the salt had been layered so thickly that it formed a bloody, crystalline scab over the flayed skin, the woman sat down and brushed her hands together.

"I was like you, once. Willing to stay quiet for the people who mattered to me. Then all of this happened." Her hand moved, encompassing the area. "When I first came here, I prayed that the ones I had called friends would come and find me. One of them was even a lover to me. I loved him dearly, but he had already moved his sight onto one of those corrupt humans. You've seen them, I'm sure. Walking about like a beast in the form of a man." She propped her chin in her palm, meeting Triadae's gaze with a calm and detached one of her own.

"But they never came for me, did you know? The druid who I had rescued from a hunter's trap, the man I loved, and even the dwarf that I tolerated because she was my love's best friend. They never came. So I stayed here, and I realized that they were scared. Look at what the world has become! Flame is engulfing everything... and as the heat advances and the world is turned to ash, I have seen the greater plan. All the pain of the past will be gone, and we will start anew. Like... plants." She tossed her head, silver hair settling around her shoulders.

"I learned that the only person you can rely on in this world and the next is yourself. Who you choose to follow doesn't really matter. The truth is that most of the people I know right now, whether they stand as ally or as enemy, will be wiped from the world when this is all done. Those who were faithful will remain, and walk as the new races."

"You're mad." Triadae spat blood, running her tongue along her split lip. "You're slaves, nothing more. If you win this, if everyone fails to stop you, do you really think that you'll be living as anything more than a servant of the ones you've sold your soul to?"

"At least I will live. Here you are, alone. What do you fight for, I wonder? For your people? One of them just set twelve blows upon your body. Who is to say that others would not do the same? Freedom, perhaps. What is freedom if you will be dead before you can see it?" She laughed, and the others in the room tittered along with her, all except Kalthor. His expression was unreadable.

"They sent you to your doom for nothing more than tipping this entire battle in their favor. How many more do you think have done the same thing, and see nothing but the soil on their graves? You are brave, and I will be the first to admit such a thing. Bravery does not make you immune to foolishness. If you scream, none will hear it. Your body will give out, even if we cannot crack you and find out why you are here and what you know. If you gave in to me, I could promise that you would live." She paused, her head cocked while her eyes narrowed.

Triadae was laughing. With open wounds that had been salted, with sweat slowly dissolving the salt and driving it further into her wounds, one might have thought she had finally lost it. Those who knew better knew that she was laughing in honest mirth, and that there was a cruel edge to it. "Promise?" Moments passed while she gathered her thoughts. "Let me tell you the only thing that comes from a promise." Her wrists twisted in their bonds, attempting to alleviate a cramp that had settled into the muscle of her arm. "I promised a man I would love him until the day we breathed our last. I showed him my love, when I damned him for an accident. I promised my dearest friend that I would stand beside him in all things, that I would see him happy, even though I knew he wanted no one else but me. I crushed him by making my own choices.

"I promised my sister that I would take care of her when our parents perished, though I knew I wasn't wanted. Years later, I killed her. I promised my undying faith to the Light, and turned my back on it. I promised men and women they would see their families again, and then I buried them." The chains clinked as she drew breath. "I promised laughter and joy to those who I've only brought pain. The only promise I have now is to myself and you. When I'm dead, I'm going to make your life a living hell."

There was silence for a long time. Triadae's labored breathing was louder than that of the shocked gasps shared between the acolytes, and the shifting of uncertain feet on stone. Then there was clapping. Soft at first, and slow, but it soon sped up until it was a steady sound. The silver-haired woman chuckled, and stopped her clapping as she stood. "A pretty speech, red head. Fine then. Rip the secrets from her flesh. I want to hear her screams from above ground, but don't let her die just yet. No... not yet.

The woman left, and several of the others followed along behind her, whispering between themselves in excited, detached glee. Three remained behind, looking between Triadae and Kalthor with something that was approaching curiosity. Mustering her strength, Triadae threw Kalthor a mad grin, her voice rough, but taunting. "What are you waiting for? This is what you live for, isn't it?"

'Don't make me do this. I'm begging you.'

"I'll forgive you, of course. Isn't that what I promised, years ago? Part of my vows when the Light was actually something I cared about." She forced her voice louder, giving them the show she knew they craved. Light knew that the poor things probably didn't want to run from another flame elemental, or swing another pick at ore that wasn't used. "I'd pray for you, but I'd ask the same of you, and I'm afraid the only praying you do anymore is between the legs of your goddess."

'Stop it!'

"Of course, when you're done with her, you'll get on your knees and worship the flaming balls of your precious 'god.' May he burn your liar's tongue from your mouth while you service his glory. Don't you worry, though. When I'm dead, I'll pray for the forgiveness you're too proud to ask for. Maybe the Light will understa – ah!"

The whip cracked, and she screamed. The pain lasted until the nerves stopped screaming, and blood dripped freely down her leg. Even then, she did not stop.

"Is that all you can do? Light, no wonder you could never actually take what you wanted. You have no force to your strikes. I've seen wet noodles hit – ah! - harder than that. Ah! Oh, please. Death take me quickly, I don't think I can stand this tickling!" She twisted in her chains, tears running freely down her face while the whip came down again and again across her skin. Minutes passed, her taunting died as her voice gave out, and then finally there was no more moving. Her mind clouded, and she barely caught the sight of one of the remaining acolytes scurrying in with Leybright right behind her before everything went completely dark.

The days passed methodically. Triadae would wake up sore and tired, but in one piece with sealed wounds that had left just lines across her skin. On the second day, they chained her to an altar and slowly burned her skin with rods of heated metal, until her screams had died and she had begun to cough blood from how raw her throat had become. Triadae woke the next day with the remnants of the burns, some forever branded into her skin. Whether it was merely a reminder, or just how the healing process was done, she didn't know.

The third day was comprised of heated nails driven into the skin of her fingers and toes, and the fourth was much the same, save for the loss of the nails of both after needles coated in a tar like substance had been thrust beneath the nails themselves, and they were pulled off with tongs. The fifth day, they took turns breaking her fingers and toes. Her legs and arms were struck with hammers until the muscles themselves screamed louder than anything else. Even if she wanted to say anything, she could not. Her voice was gone, her mind cowering away. All that settled in her sights were the faces of her tormentors, though Kalthor's always was blank, as if he had no features at all.

The sixth day, they cloistered her in a chamber that forced her to stand, and was just large enough that she couldn't touch the walls. There was no light to be seen, not even if she turned her head upwards to see where the ceiling was. There was air, there had to be for her to survive, but there was nothing more than that. Around her feet, the floor was flat enough for her to stand upon with no problem, but her toes frequently brushed against razor sharp rocks that were quick to draw blood.

By the evening of that same day, she was in pain. Her ankles and legs had swollen, and she could feel sores on the bottom of her feet. Still, they did not come for her. If she began to waver and fall asleep, her body leaned and she stepped to brace herself, and would find the rocks there to puncture her feet and blisters. It was not long before she was out of tears from her pain.

The noises started then. Her mind would drift, her body warm from pain and possibly fever, and she would begin to fall into the first moments of sleep when there would be a slam from one of the walls. It startled her, raising the hair on the back of her neck, but there would be silence again. She would begin to fall asleep again, and then another sound would wake her. Again and again, they let her surrender to sleep only to jerk her awake again. Hours later, she heard other noises. The chittering of spiders, and the room rang with her screams, and she had no care how shredded her feet became as she beat her hands against the walls until they were cut and bleeding.

They waited until her voice was gone, until she was moving her lips with no sound at all, before they allowed her out of the room. The silver haired woman was back, her lips twisted in a grim smile while she watched them pull the whimpering warrior from the room and dropped her to the ground. Instinctively, Triadae curled in on herself, hiding her eyes from even the dim glow of the room around her.

"You've been granted another chance, pretty thing." The woman crouched beside Triadae, brushing hair from her face and touching along the cold and clammy skin. "Give in, and you will be given all the power you need to make right all that has been done wrong to you. Your strength has impressed others, others who can give you all that you want. One word will save you from this agony. One word."

The room went quiet. Triadae's eyes opened slightly, and she could see the figures of Leybright and Kalthor watching her. As her vision cleared, she saw the worry in their eyes, the fear that painted Kalthor's face. She could see his wrist, where Leybright was gripping him so tightly that both of them were trembling, and she smiled. Not one of madness or defeat, but one of acceptance. The silver-haired woman shifted closer, and Triadae managed the last of her strength for one final action. Deprived of drink, she bit her lip hard enough for blood to flow, and spat the liquid at her tormentor.

The woman recoiled, wiping the blood from her pale cheek with a growl. "Then die! In the morning, you will be made an example. You will burn in the master's flames, as all who oppose us will. Take her back. Don't tend anything that won't kill her." In a storm of rage, the woman left and most of those present followed once more. Triadae slumped, falling to her back and taking a deep breath in. By the time Kalthor lifted her, she was asleep.

She did not resist when they came for her in the morning. Or what she assumed was the morning. They had her in nothing more than a purple shift, barely enough to cover her, but she no longer cared. What was modesty in the face of death? She welcomed it, and she grinned as the acolytes who dragged her from her cage became unnerved at how easily she came with them. When she began to limp, another picked her up, and she was distantly aware of dark brown eyes and rough fur.

"Druid..." The word felt like knives in her throat, trying to speak was too much anymore. She knew that it was Gandret who carried her, and she had to tell him what she had found. "They... druid..." No use. He wasn't listening to her, trying to hush her words and looking at her with something that crossed between shame and admiration. "Tiroth. Tell him."

Then they were no longer alone, and she caught the dark color of Bruzju's braids somewhere nearby, heard him speaking under his breath as Gandret carried her to the stone that they had set up for her. When he placed her upon it, others came to chain her arms down so that her palms were flush against the stone. On her knees, those around them could see the bloody and jagged cuts in her feet that had begun to fester. Though she had very little strength to do so, she still tried to move, tried to pull herself upwards, and found herself unable to. Beneath the stone a fire had been started, and she could feel the heat slowly making its way through the stone, but a glance upwards made her wonder more what they planned.

Until she thought of how they often cooled homes in the hot months in the southern cities. A windtunnel would help the cooler air from one side of the home move the warmer air out, and so this seemed to be something to do the same. Though she could not feel it, she could see the open sky far above her head, and knew that the flames would be drawn upwards. Even if it was not able to work by mechanical means, they would guide the fire up that way. She would be incinerated, and her ashes would spread over the land. There would be no burial for her.

She would not see the golden forests of Eversong again, and she found that this did not bother her as much as she had thought it might. The blue skies, the open sea... she had always wanted to see the world from the deck of a boat. One day, she had told herself. One day, she would walk away from the wars and bloodshed, and she would sail. A weak smile flicked across her lips, and she hung her head.

If there were words being spoken, she couldn't hear them. The others, all those who had been gathered to watch her, were looking between her and the lithe silver-haired woman who had started this and would now end it. Triadae could only assume that she was praising their superiors, exulting in the defeat of yet another enemy, expanding on the glory of those they had dedicated themselves to, but now Triadae was watching something else.

It was a ripple in the stone around them, as if something undulated beneath the material. Her eyes narrowed on the spot on the wall that she swore seemed to be breathing, and then upwards at the ceiling where thousands of little bumps seemed to be creeping along, completely unseen by anyone but her. Perhaps she was finally going mad, finally broken and just accepting of what was there, and then she saw them.

A crack in the wall formed, and she saw the green eyes before she made out the rest of the form. Before her groggy vision, the eyes went from feline to wolf-like, and then to human. They lost their glow, but she knew those eyes. The stone beneath her was becoming uncomfortably warm, and she shifted in her position, the chains clinking and drawing the attention of those who were listening. None looked where she was looking, accepting her glazed visage as one who had simply accepted the inevitable.

But Triadae was certain of it. Certain that, behind that crack in the wall, there were people there, and she knew them. Dim awareness trickled into her mind as she tried to fight through the past week to figure out who those eyes could belong to, and then the wall split further and the figure slipped out, dressed as all of the others present were dressed. Triadae's eyes narrowed, and then shot wide as a glimmer of flame lit and danced along a mark she could not forget.

So caught in her rapture, she didn't see the other fissures open and close. The crowd never saw the dwarf that shuffled quietly into place, nor the silent and looming night elf that crouched on a stone as if he had been there all along, his eyes glowing brightly in the dim corner he had chosen. She saw another form, curved and pale, silver eyes bright in the tunnel that they still remained in, and the flames that danced beneath her limned the edges of horns.

She was the only one who saw the newcomers, but she was not the only one who made a sound as everything fell apart at once. The room burst into screams as countless numbers of those who had gathered to watch her were impaled by weapons of stone that appeared from nowhere, great spires of earth, stalagmites and stalactites that impaled hordes of fragile flesh in mere seconds only to vanish again. They did not return, useless as the room erupted into the sounds of screams and death, and amongst it all...

… Triadae laughed.


	32. Chapter ThirtyOne: On Wings

Madness reigned supreme for terrifying moments. Bodies with great holes in them tripped the living as they scrambled for safety, trying to filter out of the narrow doorway that they had come into, and the smaller were falling to the larger, friends were falling to the bitter taste of fear as they turned on their own and tried to get away from the earth that had turned on them. The figure that had remained hidden in the tunnel now stepped forward, her hands lifted in supplication, and then they came together.

With a terrifying crash, the tunnel slammed shut, and all those who had been caught between the walls were silenced forever. With the only viewable exit now closed, screams began to echo among the shouts, but Triadae's laughter rang louder than it all. In her mind, she had gone absolutely mad with the thrill of it all. She watched the destruction as if it was a party thrown in her honor, and as great hands of stone reached down to gather up men and women and pull them back into the ceiling, she only laughed more.

Then the first figure she had seen slipped through those who were running or cowering, her steps easy and sure. Had Triadae's hands been free, she'd have raised her arms in welcome as the other woman strode close enough to be fully lit by the fire beneath her. Wine-dark hair had been bound back into a ponytail, and her skin had tanned even further than what the elven woman remembered, and there was no sign of the fear or uncertainty that had crippled her when they had last seen each other.

No words were traded, none that could be spoken at that moment alone, and the woman turned away to call for the one who had come last. The draenei, she also knew. Briefly, and only from a distance, but now Triadae understood the absolute power of the one that they had handed the wolf-girl over to. Over the screams and whimpers of the dying, she could hear the two conversing, and then the draenei stepped close enough to wrap her hands around the chains that bound Triadae, and under her touch they seemed to melt, though she felt no heat at all. The same was granted to her ankles, though she retained the shackles.

"Can you stand, friend?" The soothing words were close to her ears, and she realized that she had been watching the squat form of the dwarven woman beating the knees and ankles of those who skittered about like ants, whoops of joy leaving her, and that the draenei had wrapped her arms about her shoulders in an effort to ease her from the stone. Triadae croaked a response that might have been a negative, it was certainly intended to be, and the woman swept her leather-clad arms beneath her and lifted.

Another time, she might have been offended. Another time, she might have squirmed and yelled. Now she simply lay slack in the welcome embrace, but her eyes were scanning the surroundings, and worry twisted her features. Her laughter, that maniacal sound that had finally died away, became a whimper of fear as she caught sight of Kalthor cowering in a corner, Leybright pinned against the wall between him. "Friend," she managed.

Triadae could see the walls rippling again, and now she truly did struggle. So much that she fell from the draenei's grasp, and she reached for the only one she thought could understand. Maybe they hadn't seen him. Maybe they didn't know! Triadae closed her fingers around fur, and realized in some dim part of her mind that the girl she had aided had become a fearsome creature. But she had to know. She had to...

"Tria!" Kalthor's scream could be heard even over the thunder of the earth, and her reaching hand tried again and grasped Brinella's leg as the worgen tore a bystander into two pieces and whirled on her, then froze when she realized that the one who grasped her was not an enemy. "Don't hurt..."

"We need to go. We cannot remain here any longer." Eaxoa appeared again, standing over them as Brinella crouched beside her and brushed her clawed fingers against the trembling woman's cheek. "It's us or them, child. Make your choice now."

"Please..." Triadae tried again, and then her eyes went wide. Warmth flooded her, something like the hope that she had felt only moments ago, a strength that was brought up from the very depths of her spirit, and she knew that she would have no problem speaking, if only for a few moments. She made them count. "There's four more of us. Kalthor and his priestess, a tauren and a troll." The moment passed, and she went limp as Brinella scooped her gently up.

"Focus on them." Eaxoa's voice was quiet, but it rang in the stone around them. "Fix them in your mind, and they will be safe, but only if you focus on them. The elements are enraged, and I have little control now that they are able to wreak havoc on those who have chained them."

In her mind, the images came easily. Gandret and his brown eyes pointing to her beloved hawkstrider, Bruzju reclining against the stone in a dim cave, Kalthor and Leybright standing side by side, fear and worry plain in their eyes... and it was as if her mind was one with the stone. She felt the patience of the rock that had been pushed to retaliation, and felt as each of those who she thought of were targeted for an attack, and then she heard the plea. The soft request to wait and listen, a child tugging at the sleeve of a mother, a student asking a favor of a mentor, a lover touching the face of their cherished one, and the very stone shuddered under it all.

Slowly, the anger broke, at least partially. The wall behind Leybright opened, and she and Kalthor fell into a hidden tunnel that slammed behind them. Gandret roared as a hand of stone grasped him and drew him into the wall, and Bruzju dodged two tendrils of rock three times before they grasped his ankles and dragged him through the stone floor.

"Let 'er go, ye big oaf!" There was more screaming, but Triadae could barely pay attention to it. She could feel the worgen moving, felt herself transferred over to the slightly more comfortable arms of the draenei, and felt the movement of running, but she was still part of the stone. Or was she? No, no she wasn't. The anger was not her own. Triadae moaned her discomfort as the world bounced, and then went dark, the sound of grating stone dimming all other noises, and then silencing them.

Triadae's skin began to itch as the silence extended until all she could focus on was the steady breathing of the woman who held her. Her trembling grew stronger, and she clung to Eaxoa as the woman crouched and settled herself down, crooning low under her breath, a comforting noise that almost reminded the elven woman of the sound a mother hawkstrider made to her clutch. "You are so very worn, child. The others will be here in a moment. They must face a choice now, and we have no part of it."

In the dark, the sound of creaking leather did not soothe her at all. If anything, it scared her, but she held her ground despite wanting to scream. Her nails, or the open skin where they had been, dragged at the ground, but she barely noticed the pain of it anymore.

"Here." Something opened, the pop of a canteen or water skin, and Triadae felt a bare hand on her leg, gently touching and pulling the limb straight. A small light flickered, not a flame as one might know it, but liquid and vibrant. Soothing blue light dropped on her sore and broken feet, and she felt the skin close underneath the shaman's gentle touch. More water splashed along her skin, following the hand that ran up her body, chasing down every open wound and scouring it without pain before washing over new skin.

Last, she opened her mouth as Eaxoa tilted her head back, and the water splashed into her mouth. She swallowed it all, almost nursing the skin, until it was pulled from her. She felt far better, though she was tired. But at least she did not ache any longer. "That..." Her voice was stronger, and it did not hurt to speak, though she cowered as the sound echoed back onto them.

"Is merely water, nothing more. All elements are capable of fantastic things, but from water springs life and renewal." The dark faded as a small spark started in the shaman's hand and then broke free, floating above them and lighting the tunnel. It could not be natural; the walls were too smooth and the floor was clean of debris, though Triadae could see gems glinting in the light of the flame. "Your friends are safe, though shaken. The troll and bull have found each other, and the elven ones are already nearing the surface. You will be reunited in time."

The wall shuddered near them and then split, and Triadae watched the stout dwarven woman drag the kaldorei male through, swiftly followed by Brinella. For a time, there were no words, and then the tunnel seemed to erupt with sound. "Ye coul' ha' got'en yerself killed, ye... knife eared ponce!"

"That was my friend!"

"She were mine, too! Or did ye forge' tha' when ye saw her ripplin' silv'r 'air! Ninya tha migh' ha'e been once, Lydros!" Winnie's voice calmed as she gripped the tensed arm of the hunter, "Bu' tha' weren't our Nin there. Ye heard 'er, my friend. They migh' 'ave done somethin' ta 'er, but these don' work like tha Damned. They do this on their own. Lydros, she was gonnae roas' the elf girl."

"What of her friend? I saw him there. Why did he get free, when he was about to watch her burn? What is so different about that?" Lydros turned his eyes on Triadae, and she quailed under the gaze. "He turned on you, did he not? So why do you not call for his blood?"

"We must move. The cavern will not collapse, and your friend might still live, but we will not survive here. I will find us another way through the stone, but it will be difficult." Eaxoa stood, and Triadae attempted to do so as well, stumbling and then gripping the arms of the draenei woman. "Brinella will stay with me. Lydros, carry our friend."

The moment was tense, and then the hunter moved and took Triadae up into his arms with easy grace. The group formed easily, and Triadae watched another tunnel form under Eaxoa's care. The earth simply... moved. Slowly at first, and then with more speed, until they were running down the stone, and she could see the tunnel filling in behind them. No one could tell if they were going up or if they were going down, but they simply moved.

"Whoa." Winnie spoke for all of them as the tunnel opened into nothingness. One by one they stopped and peered into what they had stumbled upon. "I dun remember nothin' li'e this on tha maps."

"This is new." Eaxoa paused, leaning out over the edge and coaxing the earth to form a shelf that she could step out onto. "There's too much pain and confusion here for this to be old, and it isn't natural. The earth was torn before it's time." Her wondering tone turned to one of surprise as she ducked back into the tunnel, her hooves clicking on the stone. "What..."

The tunnel filled with light, their ears pounding with a high pitched scream as something large filled their vision. Nearly filling the cauldron of the volcano itself, a wall of living lava rushed upward, and then fell away to reveal the thick and lava-ridden form of - …

"Tha's a worm. Tha's a gian' worm of gods-blasted lava!" Winnie was caught somewhere between impressed and shocked senseless, her voice rising into a whoop. Triadae squeaked as Lydros reached out and caught his friend by the collar of her shirt, jerking her back from the edge that Eaxoa had vacated.

"Yes. It's good to see you're still quite apt at stating the complete obvious. Now if you would co – Move!" The thing turned, and the group cowered back into the tunnel, but not quite quick enough. Another piercing roar followed them as they turned and fled, and Eaxoa pulled stone away to form a new tunnel that they dashed down as a wall of lava followed them. The sight was closed off quickly, even the shaman panting heavily. "It won't hold."

It wouldn't. Already, the ore rich stone was heating and beginning to melt. Eaxoa pushed to the back of the group and began forming another tunnel, guiding the rock away while they fled. The walls rumbled, and the group was thrown from their footing, collapsing against each other. "It's throwing itself against the stone. We don't have time!"

"Are we close enough to the outside?" Lydros shifted as he stood, helping Triadae up, and she saw him pull what looked to be a thick bodied gun from his side.

"Yes. We're very close to the bottom, though. It will be hard. Do you think they will see it?"

"Our only chance. We can run circles in the dark here under the rock, or we can get out. I have faith in your abilities, shaman... but even the best of us will fall from exhaustion, and you are not one I would consider easy to replace. Open a hole to the outside. Open many of them. If you can distract the... whatever that is... then we may have a shot."

"Alright." Eaxoa closed her eyes, and the tunnel broadened until they could view the cauldron beneath them. No more than two hundred feet below, magma boiled and popped around the worm that had sprung from it, and the other side of the volcano was impossible to see past the clouds of gas and ash, but Lydros stuck a hand out of the crevice as the worm crashed into the opposite wall twice more, and pulled the trigger. A flare sprung from the barrel, throwing itself high into the air, though no one saw the color it may have been.

Then they were moving again, the flare gun forgotten as the worm whirled and they were forced to flee as it spit enormous globs of magma their way. The molten rock oozed into the tunnel, and Eaxoa was forced to stop and throw up a wall just as she opened another part of the wall. Winnie let out a whoop.

"They see us! We're saved!"

Triadae leaned, and spotted three enormous forms dropping through the cover while a fourth dove at the head of the massive worm. Sufficiently enraged at the pesky invader, the dragons made it easily down to the mouth of the tunnel, dropping low. Winnie leapt off the ledge first, appearing again as her dragon swooped up, using the thermals to carry it and the dwarf away. Lydros set Triadae down and followed, and a silent word passed between Eaxoa and the worgen as she too jumped.

"Drink." Triadae blinked as a vial was set under her nose, but she didn't ask, only taking it and downing the liquid that felt more like air on her tongue. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Brinella consume a vial of liquid as well, and then her arms were wrapped around her waist, and Triadae was flung out into the open and heated air... and for a moment she hung, and then slowly began to descend.

When she looked up, she saw nothing, and for a moment she felt sick. Until her toes brushed something beneath her, and she glanced down to see a bird easily the size of a dragon, and her fingers reached out to gather in the feathers around the neck. Her body settled on the ivory and bone studded leather that decorated the bird, and with a noise that could have been the keen of an eagle, the giant bird swept her wings downward, and they rose through the smoke and heat into the air.

When they broke free of the cauldron, the others appeared again, astride great green drakes that formed a triangle around the shifted druid. Atop her own, Winnie whooped and hollered up a storm, and even Lydros was caught in laughter that could only be called joyous. Eaxoa smiled over at the druid and elven woman, but beneath the dirt and grime that covered her alien features, one could tell she was ready to rest for a long time.

Triadae joined in their cheering, lifting her arms as Brinella dipped into a dive that threatened to unseat her from the crow's broad back, but she returned to level out, a swoop of her wings carrying them back up to the others. For the time, as the sun began to dip back into the horizon, Triadae forgot about her friends and simply enjoyed her moment.

They were alive.


	33. Chapter ThirtyTwo: Two Sides of a Coin

_**AN**_: I'm going to be ceasing my author's notes here and keeping them mostly to my blog, which you can find on my profile page. I ramble freely, there.

* * *

It felt like they had been running for hours, and he wasn't even sure that they were going the right way any longer. The screams of those who had perished in the room still rang in his ears though they had been silenced long ago, and there was no other sound but that of their slippered feet on the ground. He had nothing to go on in the massive tunnels they passed, and as fear gave way to despair and loss, every turn seemed to be the same that they had just taken. Except for her breathing becoming labored, Leybright was oddly silent as they fled.

When they finally broke free from a tunnel and found themselves in a cavern that could have easily housed an Aspect, Kalthor finally released her and ran his hands through his hair, feeling the coarse grains of sand and dirt that had lodged themselves in the fine strands. A glance back at his companion to make certain she was alright gained him nothing; Leybright had wandered to a large pool of groundwater, and was slowly sluicing the liquid over her hands in a deliberate fashion. Even from where he was, he could see that the slender fingers shook. He didn't blame her.

Never before had he seen the destruction that had happened in the room they had only recently fled. Against demons he had stood, working the arcane that came naturally to him, and in time the fel that it had been corrupted into. The Scourge had fallen beneath his hands like all others. Dragons, wights, nerubians... but he had never witnessed the rage of the elements first hand. They had been nothing more than fish in a barrel, easy targets just waiting to be killed. Here he had spent his life believing there was nothing worse than being alone, when the fear was truly in losing it all at something one could not control.

Leybright had screamed, as had many others. It was thanks to her that he was even alive now. Her cry of fear had torn him from his astonishment, and the most he could think of was to hug the wall as best as he could, and pray that they would emerge whole and unscathed even as the earth came down around their ears. Even so, he could still hear _her_ laughter over the slaughter, could still feel his throat as raw as it was from screaming _her_ name.

He had seen none of the others escape. If Triadae was one of them, he didn't know. A small part of his heart hoped that she had been killed, after all that she had endured. Another part said that death would have been too merciful for her; that she deserved all of the pain for the hurt that she had caused him. Yet another part told him that he was the one who had deserved to die on that rock, chained and helpless.

Things would _never_ be the same again. Even if she lived, even if she forgave him as they had promised one another that they would, there would always be that horror between them. No, it was more than just the torture now. He had seen all of it in her eyes when she had forced his hand, pushed him to the point that he was beaten her. No... he had wanted to hurt her. It had been love that stayed his hand, but he had wanted to see her hurt the way he had hurt.

His head tipped back, eyes closing as mineral-rich droplets struck his face from the ceiling. _'I'm a fool. I was not the one hurting the most. I was not the one turning a blind eye to the other in blind hope. Promises, Tria. You hurt me, yes... but I turned my pain back on you ten fold without care to what you were doing.'_ There would be a better time to mourn, in the future. Now, time was something they seemed to have little of.

The cavern they were in seemed to be a safe point, regardless of how uneasy he was to be surrounded by rock. Never one to pay attention to minerals as Triadae had been prone to doing, he couldn't tell if it was an old cavern carved by a lava flow, or simply one that had been formed from water. A river of sorts curved through the room, and the surface of it glimmered with a gentle glow that he had seen once or twice deep in the night on the ships that he had traveled on. He could see, though he didn't care, the forms of uncut and natural gems embedded in the stone itself, enough to make a dwarf wet himself with excitement.

"I'm afraid I'm more than a bit lost. Without any of our things, I'm as helpless as a babe in the woods." His voice echoed back at him, and he cringed just slightly. "We'll need to find our way out quickly, or perish here in the caverns." He watched as she sat back against a large stone and opened the tome she kept with her at all times, connected by chain to the belt around her waist."Reading? This is hardly the time for such a thing, Leybright. We've got to move."

Her silence unnerved him, but not as much as her voice when she spoke. "I am not moving from this spot until I have read all that I need to." Her slender fingers flicked towards the water in a disinterested manner. "Bathe your wounds. You stink of blood and guilt." There was a degree of sadness to her voice, or perhaps it was only weariness. Regardless, it set him on edge. He was used to the manipulative manner that Leybright spoke and operated in. This was something different, akin to the firm instruction of a mother.

His curiosity piqued, he strode to the edge of the water and proceeded to strip his bloodied clothes from him. Contrary to what he might have thought at first, the cavern was warm beneath his feet. The water, however, was not. Kalthor's breath was torn from him as he jumped into the water, actively regretting his choice quite quickly. Even remaining above the surface was a chore, until his body stopped acting as if it had curled in on itself and loosened up. Unable to contain his curiosity for too long, he bobbed nearer, his green eyes only barely above the edge of the pool as he watched her.

"_I have found one who has proven useful in a few ways. In one, he is an all too willing companion for basic lusts, and he performs admirably in such activities. In another, he is a true example of how far one can fall and yet still cling to another. It is amusing to see his shame when I watch him beneath my heel. He actively works to please me, yet the simplest grazing of his mind shows nothing less than my replacement; the frigid girl who all but drove him into my arms."_

He sank lower as Leybright read from the pages he had watched her write in every day since they had joined together. She flipped through more pages, sometimes reversing and filtering through past memories as if visiting them for the first time. Her expression remained neutral for the most part, but no matter how he peered at her and tried to understand what was going on, she never answered his silent questions.

"_Kalthor and I have spent more time together as of late. I care little for the repercussions of such a thing – it is not as if the others who share this cave with us do not feed their own desires often enough. If I dared to hazard a guess, I would assume that the only ones who do not do so on a consistent basis, or at all, are the other three who accompanied us into this pit of despair._

_In questioning Kalthor of his friend, the one who 'leads' us, I have discovered very little that I could not already guess. She is a prideful being, much like myself, who has become jaded to the world. I admit that I easily play Kalthor's resentment to my own ends. His... coupling... becomes much rougher when he is upset, and I confess that I have begun to actively push those buttons that I know will bring him to that point, if only to serve my own needs._

_He carries a bitter resentment and jealousy for Miss Gildedsun. It has been many years since we have seen this girl or her family, but I see in her much of the mannerisms of her parentage. I remember little of the younger sister, but Kalthor has told me that she is little more than a stain on the life of the elder sister, even if she will not say as much. In my own observations, I have seen this young woman not act until she is sure that her steps will not falter. I cannot say if she is entirely fit to lead us, but she has the strength to do so, regardless._

_It is her martyr complex that worries me, if I were to express the truth to anyone. She does much for the sake of others and the good of her people, and it is this that has started the void that grows between both the woman and Kalthor. I feed this void. If it is wrong of me, I cannot see the downside. They must be tested."_

Leybright finally looked up from the journal, setting her eyes on Kalthor as he bobbed in the water. After a few moments of uneasy silence, she turned her attention back to the book, turned a few more pages, and began to read out loud again, ignorant of Kalthor's clear embarrassment.

"_It was not my intention to have it come this far. In our mission to infiltrate the Twilight ranks, I'm afraid that we have begun to lose connection with the others. I see the way the bull and the troll watch myself and Kalthor, as if afraid we might turn on them at any moment. I see hope still flickering in Gildedsun's eyes, that inescapable bond that she has with her friend that refuses to die, even if they do not speak as they once did, but I am not ignorant to the way it dims. Soon, we will be forced to make a choice, and I'm not entirely certain that even I can keep the ruse up."_

Another page.

"_Never have I given myself over to the Shadow. Not when we were created, not when things came tumbling down. We are two sides of a single coin, you and I. Our faith might be different, and I may not believe you exist as much as you claim it in those brief moments that you take control, but never once have I ever considered that darker path that we both have every right to travel._

_But now, I wonder if it might have been better to have taken it. The wisest of us know that there can be no Light without Shadow, and it holds true for the opposite. The most naïve consider the Shadow to be something evil, that only the most dark of hearts can access. Only that could explain what I have done._

_Kalthor and the others toss in fitful sleep while one of our own is caged. It is my doing, I will admit this freely. I could not convince Kalthor of my reasons, and it was all that the others could do to keep from killing me where I stood. Only the fact that two more of us, perhaps all of us, would be caged as well as she kept them from doing me in. _

_She was seen by one of those who was well known for his cruelty. He kills without question; why they allow him to remain I do not know, but I do know that he would have stabbed her a thousand times without asking question. I drew attention to her, to me, to keep him away. I had hope that she would be able to talk her way out of it, but I did not expect her to run. I didn't..._

… _oh, what a sorry state things are now. All this time I have reveled in the touch of one, played him for a fool, and now I lay cold while he burns with resentment. I have done wrong."_

She turned another page, her head tilting just so as she scanned it. "You are a curious thing, aren't you? You're obviously quite intelligent, yet you've allowed her to warp and twist you until it has all come down to this. A silly girl, she is." Her eyes went back to him as he lifted himself from the water, and then she continued her reading.

"_The first night, he cried. He would not let me near him, only barely remaining still as the bull cleansed the blood from his hands and took his robes to burn them. Perhaps you would understand his grief better than I, you who have been in the place that he has. I could not understand it. But he wept quietly in the corner we had made for ourselves, his fingers twined about the scrap of hair he had managed to steal from them before they sent it and her sword away as a warning. _

_He will not look at me any longer, and he shudders under my touch. I want him to believe I did not do what I did with maliciousness, but I have made this bed and now we both must lay in it. We hear her screams on the surface, and every day that he comes back, he seems as if he has aged an eternity more. I see the damage when I am made to tend to her wounds. I am forced to keep her alive, but she has never once begged for death._

_I wait for her to give up, and turn us all in. I fear it more than I fear anything else, and I cannot explain why this is so. Merely that I wait, and yet she will not break. Four days have passed, and I silently beg for her to just die. I wonder if they would hate me, if I let her bleed. When she loses consciousness when her life is in my hands and I know that I could give her eternal rest, I can't find the strength to do it._

_Do I fear losing him, I wonder? I view him as a toy that is amusing to play with, as I have played with all of my toys before, but his undying faith in the one he will not let go is... attractive. I do not wish to be her, Light knows that I could never be, not in the eyes of others or myself... but I wish to understand what it is within her that has kept him from turning away completely. He dreams of her, he worries for her, and he has never stopped loving her. It is that love which makes him so malleable under my hand._

_I wonder, friend. Am I the one being used? All this time, I thought I was twisting him to my own ends, but now that I am the one who is caught yearning, now that I realize that he feels regret for his actions, and hate towards me..._

… _I wonder."_

"Stop." His voice was quiet as he cleaned his shredded robes in the water, watching the dirt and blood flow downstream. "I thought that you were merely noting prayers in that book. It is such a thick thing, I thought it to be a holy book for your studies. It is only a bastion for your thoughts, a place where you can be as cold as you want with no one to stop you."

Leybright watched him for a time, but he did not speak again. When she was certain that she would not be interrupting him, she flipped to the final page, and read it aloud.

"_Tomorrow, she will die. It matters not that I pray for her now, pray for something to save her from this darkness that we have unleashed on her. My faith in the Light has been mostly because of you, and I admit that it has been shaken severely this past week. Such a strong spirit, and yet she endures such pain. Only you could understand. I wish..._

_Wishes are pointless. We four sat silently around a fire, looking at the place where her things once were. They took them, all of her gold and the other items that she brought with her. There was only one little trinket, one little item that managed to escape, and Gandret has not let go of it since it dropped from her satchel. It's a tiny thing, the metal slightly worn, and I don't think it has been worn around her neck in years, but I recognize the symbol._

_Her faith had been shaken, her ability to channel the Light taken from her, yet she still holds the mark of the Holy Light. Somewhere in her mind, I believe that she still has some small amount of faith in something that she cannot see. I often wondered how she could push Kalthor from her so often, even though she must have known how he felt, but now I think I understand. In our time, we learned of the Three Virtues, but I see them so little, it is hard to remember that some still follow them._

_She has forever shown an innate respect, even for those she dislikes. I am a prime example of this. Never has she slighted me, no matter how coarse I have been towards her. The races of Azeroth are equal in her eyes, and she shows the world a degree of respect that is absent among all but those who revere nature and the elements on their own._

_They describe tenacity as something that takes a lifetime to gain, but I am beginning to believe that a lifetime can be attained day by day. She is fierce and loyal, a stubborn character who does not bend as easily as many would think. She is the bond in this motley crew, though I think we've only recently come to accept this._

_Compassion... this has always been the last Virtue we are taught, and it is this one that I believe she has gained all on her own. We have seen her throw aside joy for herself, and foster hope where it must be coaxed into being, for what reason? She could take Kalthor as her own, but her guilt would make such a thing a sorry treat for him, and she knows this! Perhaps she believed Kalthor to be happy with me, and thus attempted to stand by him even in silence, so that his pain might be lifted._

_How many times has she done this? We have spent decades studying the teachings, you as the avatar of Discipline and myself as the wrath of the Holy Light, and yet... we have missed something. How could she comprise the Virtues so strongly, and be abandoned by what she so sorely needs? We have no way to help her without risking ourselves, and it is not for a selfish reason that we hesitate._

_If we were to die, we would destroy all that she is doing for us right now. Blow for blow, Kalthor has suffered beside her. He is not permitted the bliss of unconsciousness as Gildedsun has been able to get, and these past days have choked him of what I craved most. We hear her screams, but none so clearly as he. In my heart, I know that I should cease the things I do to him, stop using him as I have been doing... but I cannot. I need him, even if he does not need me. The one he needs lays bleeding beneath us, dying for us._

_I wish that I knew how to bring you forward. You let me stay out, you let me live your life, because you are so very afraid, but I fear that I need your help in understanding. How can I understand loss, when I have never before given myself the chance to actually lose anything? You, though... is that not how I was created? We would not even know the other existed were it not for these senseless scribbles, but it has been years since you were allowed to live._

_Would she become like us, I wonder? If she should, by some saving grace, be allowed to live... would she be so broken that she becomes one side of a coin, as we are? I pride myself on being the one who gets things done, but in this I am completely helpless. I can sit here and try to wrap my mind about it, but I simply cannot._

_Would that you were here, you could do something. Anything. More than I can do._

_Tomorrow, she dies. We can do nothing more than mourn. The screams... they will not leave."_

Her voice died, but it seemed that the echo took far longer to vanish from around them than anything else. Sometime into the reading, Kalthor had ceased his cleaning and simply listened, and now his shoulders shook with the weight of it all. Whether or not he understood the intent behind the message that had been left, he still felt the loss of his friend keenly. He did not hear her move, nor did he move himself when she knelt beside him and placed her hands on his bare shoulders. If he had shied from her touch in the weeks prior, he did not do so now.

"Who are you?" More than anything, he wanted to understand that much. There was no love between he and the priestess, and he knew it deep in his heart. If she needed him, it was a one-sided affair that he would have ended in a heartbeat. The reading had hit him strongly in that manner; like he had been used, so he was using. For comfort, for security, for the feeling of being worth more than what he was. But it brought into crystal focus everything else.

"I am simply one side of a coin."

"That doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't? A shame, you seemed smarter than that. Suffice to say that a great deal of trauma, not unlike that you and your friend have suffered recently, forced me to adapt." She stood, brushing her hands down her skirts, smudging dirt from her hands to the fabric. "Two minds in the body of one. We were not aware of it until trouble started, and we had a hard time controlling who was dominant. The smallest trigger would flip us between the other, making us quite difficult to control. Between me and my inability to cope, and her and her rash behavior, we were a nightmare incarnate. In time, I became the submissive personality. It has been thirty years since I last walked in mind and body together. How things have changed."

"You're insane."

"Near enough to it."

"Leybright will come back?"

"Tired of me already?" The smile she leveled on him was simple, and sweet. Too much unlike the malicious grins that he was commonly receiving from the priestess normally. "Yes, she will. We can't simply force one or the other to the front. Judging by your own fear, I would assume that the change happened when her own fear triggered a trauma response. Difficult to understand, even more so to explain. However, we have no need for her rash behavior. Our steps must be careful and quick, and her mind was degenerating greatly even prior to the events only a few hours past."

Already she was moving, her hand lifted and softly glowing a silver-chased gold as she wandered the cavern. Kalthor watched her for a time before he pulled his breeches back on, tossing the robes aside. "Then you are not Leybright."

"No. I abandoned that name long before you were born, but she chose it because she is an aspect of me. I am simply Oria."

"Do you... hear her in your mind?"

"No. The only reason I know she exists at all is because of the journal. She had begun to write in it as a way to channel her aggression many years past. When I was pressed to the front – quite afraid and disoriented, as it was several days after I remembered being 'awake' as it were, I found it. The journal had my name in it, and so I wrote in it when I was conscious, as she did when she was."

"So she will not remember?"

"Correct. A switch these days happens rarely, and it has become even more disorienting because of it. The last I remember, I was in elven forests. Now I am here. Her last memory..."

"... is not a happy one." Kalthor muttered under his breath as he paced around the cavern himself, pausing before an opening that seemed the most likely, though it would require them both to crouch in order to walk through it.

"Consider yourself warned, friend. The less of a show you make it, the better for the both of you." Oria murmured her warning beside him before stepping up to the opening and crouching into it. "In fact, I'd be appreciative if you made it out that it never happened. Tell her that she fainted. You're capable of lying to yourself. Lying to another should be easy."

Kalthor frowned at her backside as she moved, but said nothing to the contrary. Glancing back over his shoulder, he paused a moment and then followed. Several hours later, they broke through to a setting sun, atop a mountain that held no sign of Twilight. Below them stretched the camps of the Guardians of Hyjal, though the races that scurried between the tents seemed as small as ants from their level. With nothing to lose, and both feeling the need for food and drink, they began their trek down the mountain, only barely managing to walk into the camp on their own two feet.

Sleep came quickly, though Kalthor's was light and easily disturbed. They were alive... but at what cost?


	34. Chapter ThirtyThree: The Affected

"You're awake. That is good. I'll go fetch mother."

Gentle hands touched her, and Triadae cried out in pain as bandages were removed quickly from raw skin. The room came slowly into focus, and she blinked a few times while the sting left her body. Light met her eyes first, and she followed the sight of globes that swung from the low ceiling, releasing a dim glow over the room that was almost calming. There was a scent of earth and grass, and she took a deep breath as those same hands helped her to sit up and slowly removed the bandages around her chest. "Where am I?" A different voice answered her, and Triadae felt the bed she was seated on shift as someone else took up a place beside her.

"Amon' friends, lass. Can ye find it in ye to stand up? Easeh on yer head, tha globes are delicate. Brinneh's cracked a few o' them already comin' in here to take care o' ye. Tha's it, little bit at a time. Bah, who lef' tha there? Must 'ave been the chillun. Fudge. Take mah spoon ta them, ah will." The woman grunted as she moved backwards, guiding Triadae with an easy touch. "There now. How do ye feel?"

"Like a kodo sat on me."

"Humor! Good, good. Ye've been out like a ligh' fer a week now. Eaxoa took care o' most o' yer hurts, but we've bin unnah siege and unable to realleh heal ye the way ye deserve. Hence, tha bandages an' ilk. Sorreh for the sudden rip. Tha arcanists were hard at work keepin' tha beasties aroun' here from chewin' on us, an' ah had na chance to ten' ta ye last night. Here now, put this on before ah take ye outsi'e."

Soft cloth brushed Triadae's fingers, and without complaint, the elven woman clasped her fingers around it and held it to her chest. Suddenly, she was quite aware that she was nude, and that made her both confused and slightly insulted all at once. The hell of a hand rubbed at her eyes, and she swatted at something that tickled her neck. The resounding smack and yelp that followed were answered by the woman's chuckle.

"Yeh, I had a though' tha was na tha way ye had yer hair before. Shoddy job, realleh. Ah got someone who can take care o' tha if yeh like. First, though, we get yeh into some sort o' bath before yeh see anyone else. Easeh, easeh. There, feel a bit better ta be dressed? Follow meh."

Triadae ducked beneath a low hanging globe and followed the shorter woman out of the room, blinking back at the firelight that danced in front of her, and the sudden amount of noise that filled her ears. An urge struck her as the voices and laughter crowded around her, and the smell of smoke and cooking meat hit her like a wall. Her hands clutched at her ears, eyes closing tightly against the assault of the noise and scents that were banging at her memory. "Help me..."

She felt that gentle grasp on her waist, guiding her as much as she would allow. Had it been her way, the fear and anxiety might have just propelled her from the camp and into the night in her urge to leave it all behind. Yet the gentle touch continued, steering her away from the flames and the noise, and the further she walked, the better she felt, until at last she allowed her trembling fingers drop from her ears to curl nervously at her chest.

"Mah fault, sweetlin'. I'm sorreh. I was nah thinkin'. Out! Out, ye lot." Triadae cowered back against a tree as a flood of people pressed past laughing and fleeing the stocky woman. "Lazy, tha lot o' 'em. Hide back 'ere 'aving their fun when they should be workin' with tha rest o' 'em. Hmph!" The woman rounded on Triadae once more, and the frustrated look she had died into something bordering a mother's kindness. "Here now. Ea asked a few favors o' tha elements. We 'ave a nice bathin' ring 'ere, and it's warm enough for anyone. We can get ye clean before we let ye see anyone else."

Triadae nodded slowly, peeling herself away from the tree to follow the other woman as she rounded a bend. Steam startled her, made her shrink back for just a moment before she steeled herself and took a deep breath. Step by step, the elven woman followed into the starlit steam, only letting her feet touch where the other woman walked. Above her, trees spread their foliage to shade the area from the moonless night. She could just barely make out the stars from between the leaves, and she spotted small things blinking and flickering as they danced in the light breeze.

The glade held several pools, and she noticed that the trees had been wound close enough to create a wall around the area, keeping those who might peep on the bathers themselves. One pool was still, no steam rising from it at all, and she found herself drawn to it. A simple touch made ripples dance and flicker in a myriad number of colors, and she found herself trying to chase them all with her eyes like a child.

"Ea's messagin' pool. Fancy li'l thin', but it gets tha job done, yeh? O'er 'ere, lass."

She left the pool behind her to follow once more, and found herself standing in front of a large pool that steamed in the cool air. With some assistance from the woman, she stripped and slowly lowered herself into the water, finding that the bottom was firm and that a ring had been placed around for seating that submerged her from the shoulders down. The warmth made sweat bead on her forehead, but she made no comment as the other woman left her alone.

Alone. Her thoughts trailed from the pool and slammed her back into the harsh reality of a room with no exit. Heat baked her skin, seared her until she couldn't stand to touch anything. Knives against her skin, tearing screams from her as she writhed and tried to break free. Manacles held her down. Alone! Trapped!

Triadae screamed and tried to flee from the pool as memories and nightmares tangled into one to become a powerful force that threatened to break her to her core. Something grasped her, pinned her against rock, and she scratched at her bonds, bit at what she could until something managed to break into her mind.

A heartbeat, sped up with adrenaline, but there nonetheless. She could hear it, and her breathing settled to match it even as she gave a few tugs on the binds around her wrists. The haze across her eyes cleared slowly, soon replaced by tears that wouldn't stop, and her legs finally gave out. The hands that grasped her wrists loosened and wrapped around her shoulders, holding her in an uncertain grasp, and she could feel the rumble of a growl in the throat of the one who held her.

"It... isn't real."

"It feels that way." Triadae whimpered the words as she buried her face against bloody skin, noting the tang of copper in her mouth. It made her feel sick.

"True enough. Things don't leave as easily as we'd like them to, sometimes. It's alright to know fear and pain, it makes us who we are." Brinella's voice was soothing but halted, as if she had no idea how to say what needed to be said.

The elven woman didn't look up at her companion, merely shivering on the grass against her. "I was terrified. If I close my eyes, I can feel the walls closing in. I can feel the knives and the fire. I can feel th-the chains..." She choked on her tears, trying desperately to pick herself up from the depths she had fallen. Pride yelled at her, called her a slew of names that she didn't even know existed, but her eyes were open and focused on the blood in front of her as fear boiled within her.

She felt Brinella shift, and then hiss with pain as her nails dug into her skin. The worgen did not move again, except to gather the smaller woman up into her lap as she moved her feet to dangle into the water. "Is this what it was like for you? When you were touched, was it..."

"It still is. Ea managed to piece my sanity back together, and even stopped the taint from spreading through me and severing me from nature... but I still have the nightmares. I still go days without sleeping when I am frightened. I am not cured, and I may never be."

Her shivering ceased, but she still clung to the woman as if she were the last thing that held her to the world. Silence was the only thing between them for a time before Brinella spoke again.

"Kalthor made it back to us a few days after we brought you in. He and his companion have been staying together in one of the tents with the other spellcasters. I spoke with him, and he told me of what you had done and gone through. He asked that I help you as best I can, believing that I will know how to help you. I'm afraid I don't."

Triadae moved as Brinella did, dropping back into the water with only a whimper of discomfort. Her hand reached out to snag at the slender ankle of the woman as the worgen stood, and looked up at her with eyes that still did not quite have the fear gone from them. "Help... me. I don't want to be alone."

"I said that to you, once."

The elven woman's ears drooped, and she released Brinella's ankle to sit instead, staring vacantly at the center of the pool. There was silence for a few moments, and then the sound of something settling behind her, and the ripples as someone lowered themselves into the water beside her. Before Brinella could even speak, Triadae flung herself at the woman, burying her face in her neck.

Brinella relaxed slightly, resting her hands around the woman. "I won't let you be alone."


	35. Chapter ThirtyFour: The Rescue Pt One

**AN**: Really sorry, folks. Real life came and bit me in the butt, taking out the time I wanted to write. Between the Blizzard Writing Contest, college, WoW, and NaNoWriMo, Fang and Spell hasn't been getting much love. That -will- change, though. I'm determined to finish this story off, seeing as the 'end' is truly near...

* * *

"That must be them."

The woman lifted a finger to point out over the fire-scorched plain, and Triadae followed her gaze, eyes narrowed. Beside her, she felt the slender woman drop her arm and move behind her to the others who had been sent out with them. Triadae's fingers knit together in worry; no matter how she tried, she couldn't see where the other woman pointed. Yet she still continued to follow without resistance, believing in the skills of the one who served those who had saved her. Saved her and the others, including these ones. She jumped as the leader gently touched her bare arm, glancing over at the blonde, who simply smiled comfortingly.

"I'm sorry. I just can't..."

"See them?" Ashadel's smile became a grin, and Triadae felt a faint flush of shame as she looked away. The rogue parted from her, handing over a pack that Triadae carried without question. "I've been doing this a long time, friend. My path isn't one of shadows and silver tongues. I owe my life to the caravan, and I do for them what I can. I was told to assist you in any fashion that I can, and you have been worried for the others."

Triadae blinked as the blonde narrowed her eyes at her, and looked away quickly. It was true, of course. Her thoughts had been on those who were missing, if only to drive her thoughts away from the fear and pain that she had experienced. Kalthor had been very little help, seemingly stuck in his own world when he got too near to her... it hurt too much to be around him, and so she avoided both him and the priestess who seemed to become his shadow. She was shown kindness among the others, but she found that she could no longer mingle like she once was able to. So she had jumped at the chance to find the troll and tauren who had not yet returned.

She looked back out to where the rogue had pointed, her fingers pulling through the short-cropped hair that irritated her so deeply. Around her, the small pack of mingled sellswords laughed and packed their things, but she could not join in their mirth. Light knew she had tried. The first day, the second, the third... she clung to Brinella as if the druid was the only thing that kept her grounded. Never once did the worgen complain, reading the slender elven woman like a book. Triadae found that she was no longer afraid of the woman in her bestial form, and there had been some comfort in being able to curl up beside the druid as she slept.

It had been Brinella who asked for the party to be formed. While she had not gone with the group, her word was backed by others who had come to know and pity the Sin'dorei woman. Though she would not admit it to anyone outside of her own mind, Triadae was slowly accepting the hodge-podge band as a second family. It was for that reason alone that she chose to believe the rogue who led her and the others.

"Red."

Triadae jumped as Ashadel's fingers wiggled in front of her nose, flushing again as the woman grinned. That grin made her uneasy in more ways than one. She stood still as the group moved forward, waiting for them to get a few steps ahead before she followed as well, a looming sense of unease growing through her that had nothing to do with the hidden promises in every step the blonde took.

"Do ye trust 'er, Fawn?" The dwarven male grunted as he climbed just behind the rogue, his arms bulging under the strain of lifting all of his weight and the satchels strapped to his back. "Seems ah little uh... out of it."

Ashadel paused at the top of the outcropping, her hand brushing through the golden hair that set her apart from everyone else in the group. Her breathing was barely labored, slender body hidden beneath thick leather, but she was beginning to itch with sweat. Pale green eyes fell on the warrior who struggled behind the agile climbers, her lips set in a thin line for a moment before she nodded. "Yeah, I trust her."

"Too damn skittish, if ye ask me." The man sputtered from beneath a black beard as the rogue patted his head, all of his indignant gaze focused solely on her pelvis.

"Good thing I'm not asking you then, hm?" She lowered her voice as the others filed by, "I'd be wary of her if she wasn't as skittish as a hare in a den of wolves. You don't face a death like that and come away from it with a smile on your face."

Galfir blinked once, his dark eyes flicking between the rogue and the warrior for a moment before he barked a laugh, smacking the rogue on her thigh as he spoke. "Shoulda known. Tend ta ferget ye've seen hell yerself, lass. Fine then," he paused long enough to pull a pipe out from a pouch on his hip, tapping it against his teeth. "Ye know the next question then, eh? Readin' mah mind again?"

Once more the rogue grinned, but there was some bit of sadness in her eyes as she observed the warrior. "She'll be fine. The fire just needs to be stoked again, the others were right about that much. Maybe getting to the others will help her out, maybe it won't. Maybe she'll live her life afraid, terrified of shadows."

"Ye made it." The dwarf eyed her.

"I'm still terrified, Galfir." The rogue smiled sadly, moving past him to lend a hand to Triadae. Galfir grunted again as she passed, pocketing his pipe once more to move with the others.

"Give me your hand, and keep your sword close. I don't want to hear anything but the sound of your panting in my ears, you got that?" Ashadel gripped Triadae's hand tightly, holding her firmly while the warrior climbed the last few feet. For all of her strength, it was clear that the woman didn't climb things much. Compared to the others, she was struggling for breath, her face flushed with exertion and sweat plastering her hair to her skin.

She was beautiful.

"Understood," the warrior groaned out as she dropped to her knees beside the rogue, and Ashadel found herself fighting back an urge to curl fingers in red hair and finding new ways to make the woman groan. She practically felt the vivid green eyes of the woman on her back as she turned away to face the others. Two of them grinned back at her, and Galfir rolled his eyes.

They knew her too well.

"The shaman and his companion are moving slowly. They're either wounded, or starting to run out of energy. Let's not forget the fact they're surrounded on three sides, and they aren't heading the right way. Our job is to get in there before they meet others who aren't trying to keep them alive. The Twilight are in a frenzy after our last set of attacks, and we're running on guesses that we may have gotten at least one of their superiors.

"This doesn't mean we're getting it easy. I could have done this with two of us, but I figured we all wanted out of the camp and away from the bubble we've been living under for the last month." She paused as the others chuckled, but her tone turned somber. "It is imperative that we get those two out alive. The less bloodshed we have, the better... but I'm not telling you to hold your blades. If you get the chance, cut them down.

"Dispose of bodies the best you can, and get what we need. Nothing else. When we're all in, Galfir's going to be working his magic. When we're safely out, Galfir's going to put on a pretty display for us. If you're not up here to watch the show when it's time, then it better be because you died with a smile on your face down there, am I understood?"

There were no words, merely a grim nod of four heads. "You'll be paired. Galfir, I want you to take the kid." She gestured to a leggy brown-haired boy, and barely managed to hide a smile as the boy pumped his fist in joy. The dwarf merely nodded, tapping his fingers against his biceps. "Tahti and Riv, you two will be paired. I'll take Red." The female troll and kaldorei male both nodded, and Ashadel looked back to Triadae, who met her eyes only long enough to nod her own assent before glancing back out the way they had come.

"Let's get going. In and out, friends. In and out."

"What's yer name again, kid?" Galfir dropped lightly to the ground, and begin to rearrange the packs that he had lowered down before them. He felt the ground rumble beneath him as the boy jumped as well, and then the clank of the metal hook as it hit ground, making them both hold their breaths until the tension passed.

The boy flushed, quickly fetching the rope and coiling it again. "Sorry, sir. Jacob. My name is -"

"Jacob, yeah. I heard ye the first time. Yer one o' Greta's whelps, aren't ye?" His grin was masked beneath his beard as the boy nodded, but it was there nonetheless. Galfir sucked idly at his pipe, tapping fingers along his arm. "Good woman, yer mother. Remember yer da much?" Those dark eyes watched the boy closely, saw the dark hair and foal-like body, and saw nothing of the mother in him. Not until the boy looked him in the eyes.

"Nah." Jacob shook his head and threw the rope over his shoulder. "He left when Ma started showin'. Came aroun' again after my sisters were born, got Ma heavy with twins tha' she lost. Ended up dyin' up north a year or so ago. Only time I ever saw him was when he snuck inta Ma's cart with tha caravan. Lotsa people do tha, though. Just knew him because we looked alike."

Galfir gazed at the boy a bit longer, then nodded briskly. "Happens. Ye siblin's..."

"Different fathers. Most of 'em, at least. Ma just likes tha' sort of thin'. Everyone there does." The boy stretched and moved away from the wall, towards the rock that cleverly hid them both. There was no one else in the area, not for another mile at least. It was safe for them to speak, safe to even yell if they so wanted to.

"Hmph. Ye've got a good head on yer shoulders. Greta's a good woman." The dwarf lumbered past, hooking satchels and pouches to his broad back once more. One of them was handed over to Jacob, who took it without a sound. The two crept along the base of the mountain, slipping nimbly between rocks and burned out trees until they were no more than a stone's throw away from their mark.

Galfir stopped, holding his hand back to the boy and drawing him close to speak to him without his voice carrying. "Ye see tha line o' rocks just past the bonfire there?" He continued as the boy nodded, "I want ye to take your bag, tie the end o' it to this rock here. No, not tha bag. What's actually in tha bag. It's a fuse, but ye already knew tha." He grinned as the boy nodded. "Smart lad. Can ye figure out the rest o' it, then?"

"Yeah. You've got the rest o' it here. I take the fuse around that way to the other side without getting' caught. You'll follow after me with the explosives." His eyes flicked to the mountain. "You plan on bringin' it down on them, literally. Would take a bit... I didn't see you bring that much."

"Aye. What you don't see is what'll kill ye." Galfir moved his shoulder, the heaviest bag shifting slightly. "Keep tha fuse along the wall. Tie it ta somethin' o'er there and then keep goin'. We've got ta get as far around here as we can before the others are done. When ye've run ou' ta cord, follow it back ta me. I'll give ye a good lesson in explosives."

Galfir grinned as the boy practically lit up. Never before had he seen someone move so quickly, so deftly. The boy was tied off and gone before any other instructions could be given, but Galfir had none to give. The boy was good, obedient and honest, something that could be taken advantage of easily. Just not by him.

Greta was everything to both of them, though Galfir hadn't admitted it to anyone. The half-dwarven woman was as much a mother to those who knew her as she was to her children, and it had been her who had peeled away the layers of ice and stone that Galfir had wrapped around himself after the final battles in Northrend. While the rest of the caravan milled about in their own lives and thoughts, Greta had nursed him back to health with wit and charm. Things he had forgotten he even liked.

He didn't even mind her muddied blood. She was thick bodied, with all the fire of the dwarven people inside of her. She was accepting, loving, nurturing to those who claimed they didn't want it. When she started something, she finished it. Galfir was, on some level, intimidated by her. He knew he owed his life and sanity to her, that only her word had allowed him to remain a part of the caravan with the others whom he now regarded as family.

Galfir loved her, but so did many men. She was easy on the eyes, and welcoming in the bed. Her desires were clear, and no man ever was expected to stay around long enough to see them through. Thirteen children and no husband had taught her the pain of separation, yet she never clung to any of them like some weeping maid. The woman had too much pride to do that, and in her children... he saw all of that pride a thousand fold.

Once certain that Jacob had gone from his sight, he swung a satchel around and began taking out the contents. Several small, yellow wrapped blocks of what looked like nothing more than modeling clay and a handful of small devices with an antenna on the end, and something that looked like prongs on the side, with a glassy surface opposite. Galfir was not a conventional dwarf in some ways. Engineering had taught him the value of experimentation, and so he had begun to formulate things that would have made most people back away. Even gnomes and goblins. Muttering under his breath, he pulled his goggles down around his eyes and set to work.

"What are they doing?" Riv peered over the ledge that he and his companion were crouched on, his fingers digging further into the soft rock. Golden eyes watched the gathering of people below them, a mass of black and purple that was dotted with the bright colors of gnomish hair. It was an odd sight, seeing so many who bore so little similarity to anyone else, gathered in one place. Or at least it would have been, if he had not been crouched beside a troll woman at that moment, and had not shared a bed with an orcish woman the night before.

"Mm?" The troll followed his gaze, saw the swarm of people who stood apart from the others, wildly gesturing as if they were having an argument. "Fahtin', it seems tah me." Her eyes narrowed as sparks flew, quite literally, and she saw the objects in their hands. So did Riv.

"Building. What are they building..."

"Nah many tings dat can be built wit'out fire an' anvil." Tahti frowned and moved, her leathers making only a soft whisk of sound as she dropped to the ledge beneath them, hugging the wall tightly. "Can't be seein', mon. Too much distractions be aroun' dem. I can see da dwarf an' boy, over dere." She pointed past the group, far past the range of the fires, and the elven man nodded slowly. He could see only the shapes, one lanky figure and another stout one working alongside one another. "'e gone soft, da dwarf. It be good to see 'im smile."

Riv grunted, his eyes leaving the darkness to look for the others. They had been too late in intercepting the tauren and troll; the two had run into those they had hoped to keep away from them, but there had been no danger as of yet. It looked as though the two could take care of themselves – or at least lie through their teeth. Riv shifted his weight, flexing toes that were going numb with his lack of movement. "Do you see the other two?"

"Nah. Tah be expected, with de Fawn. Nah so sure about de other one, but I be seein' neither of dem." Tahti rolled her shoulders, her eyes on those who continued hammering away. A few moved, and her head tilted in thought. "'ey, Reev? Why would gobbies be workin' on metal? Large pieces."

The elven man froze, his eyes going from camp up to the troll. "How large?"

"Eh, 'bout de size o' a dragon."

"Go get the kid and dwarf. I just got a very bad feeling."

"Bu -"

"_Now,_ Tahti." His eyes were back on the plates. "How many dragons do you know that need plates to hold them together?"


	36. Chapter ThirtyFive: The Rescue Pt Two

The camp was busy with the bodies of hundreds. They milled together like family at a gathering; dancing, laughing, drinking. Guards watched the proceedings with an easy gaze, not expecting the lurking trouble around them. In the near full-circle of mountain that they had camped themselves in, no one thought they would find harm. No one thought they'd see death.

_Funny how these things work_, thought the rogue as she stepped into the ring of firelight, her cloak drawn over her head until all that she could see was the ground and the feet that trod on it. Her fingers clenched, muffling the snap and crack of the glass in her palm, and she hunched her body down. "Help me... please." Her feet dragged across the dirt, a limp forming as she came closer to the guards who watched her carefully. "The Master is... he's in danger."

She lifted her head, letting the hood fall back to show the dirtied face, cheeks streaked with tears and blood. The men looked between each other for a moment, then started forward to offer a hand. Ashadel took them gratefully, shaking fingers latching around their bare wrists as they half hauled her to her feet. "Th-thank you. I must speak with the Master's Voice. Enemies come from the south, they've destroyed a camp already." Her tears started again, and she gripped them harder. "The walls attacked us... they attacked us!"

The men grunted under her steel grip, one of them shaking himself free and backing up. "You say that we've lost a camp? Two others..." He glanced at the second man, and nodded. "I'll find the Voice. Take her to the fire with the other two." There was a moment where he looked at the rogue as if seeing her for the first time, and then turned away, slowly.

Ashadel's lips pulled in a grin as both men moved in unison, dropping to their knees and holding their chests with pained looks. They were dead by the time they hit the ground, but she retained her grip on the one for a time, looking him over. "Shame. I've killed so many of my own kin, yet it never aches like it should." Her head turned, and she whistled softly into the darkness behind her.

"Grab the one that started walking off. Don't touch his wrists, and don't touch my hands. See if they've got gloves in those pouches." She struggled with the grip of the dead man she had held onto while Triadae obeyed her commands. "No, not their clothes. Just take the cloaks, it's all we'll need. Yes, Red..." Ashadel's eyes flashed to the woman, who stood looking between the bodies with horror in her eyes. "They're dead. I'm immune to my own toxins, and most generic types. It means I can be my own weapon. I've adapted."

"Why? What did you endure that required such adaptations?" The redhead turned to look at her, vivid green eyes narrowed in something that was mingled disgust and a deep-seated fear. "Don't tell me that it's just part of the job. I've dealt with your kind before... I've seen nothing like this."

"Then you haven't dealt with my kind." She made her tone seem careless, but there was hurt beneath the words, and she didn't miss the way the warrior seemed to ease. Her voice was low as she worked through the pouches of both men after they were stripped of their cloaks. "You've seen me in the camp, Red. You think a woman like me has many scruples? I'm good with swords, I'm good with axes. Light, I'll even handle a bow if I'm needed, but there's things I've been and done that have made me into a weapon. I don't expect you to understand, but I can promise you one thing." She stood after pocketing the few things in each man's pockets, removing her own cloak and taking one from her companion.

"I don't kill without reason. Even when I do kill, I don't like it. You are not a threat to me; if anything, I'm here to protect you. To see you smile again, and to find that spark that lies within and stoke it into a fire again. Not for me, and not for anyone else. Just you. I know what you've seen, and I know the terror it leaves deep inside you. I know that you're never going to be able to do some things the same way." A hand reached out and then stopped, pulling back, but she was glad to see that Triadae did not flinch under her moment of forgetfulness. "You've lost something, but you'll find it again. Find it before it kills you, Red. That's all I ask."

Ashadel watched the warrior for a few moments more before turning away and pulling the cloak hood up over her head again. She could hear Triadae doing the same, but there were no more words traded between the two of them. With a heavier heart, the woman brushed fingers against her throat before dragging both of the bodies away into the brush. She laid them both out, crossing hands over their chests and closing their eyes as if they were merely sleeping. Part of her deeply wished they were. "Whatever you believed in, I hope it was worth dying for. Whatever you believed watched over you, I hope it welcomes you into it's embrace... and forgives me for the lives I took."

The rogue turned away, looking back only once before returning to the side of her companion. "The two are by one of the fires. Follow in my footsteps, and do not look anywhere that you don't need to. I need you to find the military woman within you, and stick to it. From this point on, you're on your own. We don't know each other as anything more than people being in the same place at the same time. You can handle that." She didn't make it a question, didn't want to see the fear in the eyes of the other woman. "Get them, then get out."

"Alright."

"Good girl. Let's get this over with." The blonde stepped quickly into the firelight, with Triadae on her heels. The camp didn't look twice at them, too caught up in their own activities. Eating, drinking, training... Ashadel felt the prickle of unease sweep up her back, and she rolled her shoulders to settle it. Her pace quickened, eyes scouring the flames for the two that they sought, and she paused for just a moment, casting a glance back over her shoulder.

Triadae was gone.

A careful glance around showed here to be alone, and her fists clenched for a moment before she reached for the twin blades on her belt, wrapping her hands around the hilts and taking a deep breath to steady herself. It would have worked; it normally always worked like that, but this time, something was different. The blades sang in her blood, the voice of the dragon that had gifted her the swords echoing in her mind.

"_I will so love hearing your death-cry..._"

She dared not look at the cross-guards, dared not even breathe while it felt like the dragons that formed the hilt of her sword writhed and lived beneath her palm. Never before had the blades done such a thing, and it made her skin crawl. They were whispering like children, calling out in timid voices for someone that was just out of reach.

"_Father..._"

Her eyes scanned the fires, and saw the hulking figure of a tauren sitting beside one, his hand on the shoulder of a smaller form, one that she couldn't quite discern. Without a thought, she turned towards the fire that they sat at, noting how others seemed to keep their distance. That calmed her quite a bit, and she squared her shoulders as she stepped closer, finally near enough to drop into a crouch between the two.

"You're far from home, bull." She glanced sideways at the cloaked figure and saw the tusks, understood in a moment. "The ones you look for are not here. Only shadows and death remain."

"Eh?" The troll turned his head, narrowed dark eyes up at her own before looking at the hand she offered from beneath the shadows of her cloak. He watched the lines dance in the fire; fine lines of her palm glistening with the dust that mingled with sweat, and without another word, took the hand offered and rumbled a response. "Such is de way wit' de shadah's. Joo not be one o' dem, who leave dey's toxin's on dey's blades."

"Or in their words. No, I'm not one of them."

"Dis meetin' be a lon' time comin', ya? Dey sing ya praises in de dark, but dey fear da poison on ya lips." Bruzju took his hand back, flexing his fingers as she watched him. "Joo good wit' de toxins. Not often one can make ol' Bruzju's arm numb wit' powdah. Enou' ta kill, but joo alreadeh used some of dat on others, ya?"

"She called you a Spymaster. I figured you were as immune as I, if not more." Her grin was wry as she took a seat between them, noting the way they stiffened. "I've had my own adventures with your kind, Spymaster. Send my regards to Asithyl and Bruj'zu when you see them next, hmm? Though make sure you tell Asithyl that I will kill him if he shows his face again. So he'd better bring ropes."

The tauren snorted, his nose ring blowing and catching the slender elven ear of the rogue. "You'll both be able to pass that message along, as long as we get you both out from here." Her voice dropped, and the two leaned closer to listen. "We have teams working now to bring the mountain down. Well, a team at the very least. I'm not sure what my others are doing. I had another, but I seem to have lost her in the crowd."

She paused as sound went up around them, a joyous and excited cry that rang through the area louder each time it was spoken. Once more, the dreaded feeling slithered down her spine. Around them there was movement, the sound of many feet, and she realized that they were being left behind as more and more crowded around the flames. Her eyes were drawn to them, to the shadows that rose and fell against the stone, and then higher... to the flames that danced in the sky.

"_Father..._"

"We need to go. We need to go now!" Ashadel jumped as a hand fell on her shoulder and gripped hard, pulling her up. Dimly, she was aware of another figure helping the troll to his feet, the tauren just behind him. Her mind cleared, and she recalled the voice of Riv as he pulled her closer, as the crowd pushed and swelled against them. "We're not getting out of here if we don't leave now."

"What?" Her mind wouldn't clear completely, reason lost behind absolute terror as the flames in the sky lifted and fell as if on wings.

"Ruddy... Ashadel! They're forging plates! Huge plates, big enough for a dragon, and I'm not talking a wyrm or drake. How many dragons do you know who wear metal plating, Asha?" His voice dropped, and he whirled her around to face her. "If we don't leave now, the only way we're getting out is in tiny little boxes to the families we don't have. Where's the girl?"

"I l-lost her..." The rogue shook her head, trying to fight the incessant cry in the back of her mind. "We need to find her."

"There's no time!"

"There's always time!" She pushed away from him and glared back at his steady gaze..

"Asha..." His tone was sympathetic, grating on her ears with truth beneath his gentle tone. "There's no time to be looking for someone you want to warm your bed. I know the feeling, but we all know the risks when we take the jobs we do. It's time to go, and we need all the time we can to get these two out. You have to let her go. Don't be a hero, for the love of Elune."

The woman looked between the others, turned her head to look through the group, and then looked back. "Get out, and then bring it down." She lifted a hand and dug out a small object, tossing it over. "Give that to the Matron, should I not make it out. That's my order, move." She didn't wait for him to respond, diving into the crowd with as much fervor as those who were milling around to greet their visitor.

"Fawn?" Triadae stopped moving as the crowd dispersed, and found that her companion was no where to be seen. Her hand slipped behind her, gripping the sheath of her blade for support before she looked around again. No use. She was truly alone, and she had no idea what was to be done about it. Something told her that she should merely walk away, but something else itched in the back of her mind.

A sense of hatred and betrayal that wouldn't shake. It was here, among people like this, that she had lost everything. Her honor, and her love. Kalthor wouldn't even look at her now, and she couldn't even blame herself any longer. Terror subsided as people passed her and didn't bother looking at her more closely than they needed to move around her.

"_Find it before it kills you..._"

What had she meant? The question burned in her mind, burrowed deeper than her resentment and anger. The words had struck a chord, and she could no more shake that off than she could anything else. It was going to drive her mad. Triadae whirled on a heel and pushed into the crowd, no more understanding the action than she could understand what was going through her mind.

Something was pulling at her, the same feeling that she had experienced once before, when she knew without knowing how that the army before her was parting around the single figure she dreaded to find. Her sister, standing with a legion of undead behind her, and Triadae herself, with only the bodies of her men. Men and women that she had lead to their deaths. That wasn't going to happen here, but the dread filled her, made her see the long-gone face of her kin in every shadow, and still she pushed.

Her hand touched the arm of one, and the dread boiled over into her mind, making her recoil quickly. Too late, the figure turned to berate her, and she saw the elven face, the beauty of the Kaldorei, moments before the horrific scarring along the other half was shown. Her stomach turned, her recoil became one of disgust, but the hand reached out and grasped her at the same time the deathly hiss was heard in her ears.

"You!" The silver-haired woman gripped her tighter, pulled her closer, and Triadae saw heatless flames dance in front of her face and felt the manacles on her wrists before the reality pushed past the memory and slapped her firmly. "You were supposed to die, I saw the mountain come down on you!" Nails dug painfully into her wrists, and yet she couldn't move. No longer out of fear, but out of a sense of pity; there was fear in the eyes that tried to look at her with hate.

"Let me go, please." Her voice came out as a rasp, pulling back from hands that only gripped harder. "I'm only here to get my friends. I swear it, I haven't come to do anything else but get my friends!" Her voice was rising into hysteria as fear once more pushed into her heart, the pity gone as fire danced around them.

Ninya peered at the woman a few moments more before loosening her grip, a wheezing breath escaping her. "They came for you." There was sorrow in her voice, tears starting in the eye that had not been burned out. "They could have taken me, too... but they came for you. Why for you? Was I not as important?"

Triadae opened her mouth to speak and was silenced by a finger placed to her lips. Without a sound, the Kaldorei woman pulled her away, against the tide of people that had begun to grow around the fires, and closer to the rocks. No longer was her grip like iron around her wrists, but the urgency was there regardless. She didn't make a sound as she was all but thrown against the rock, the rogue stepping in close and placing both hands near her head, pinning her in place.

"Are they alive? Don't speak, just nod or shake your head. They are alive, then?" Ninya seemed to relax, relief flowing in her words. "I was so... happy. I've made a terrible, terrible mistake. The power, the lure... you would understand it, wouldn't you? Of anyone who would know the power, it would be you. I see it in your eyes. Are they with you, here? Don't speak – yes, act shy. The less they think I'm interrogating you, the better. I'm dead, anyway.

Everything hit me harder than the mountain when I saw them." For a moment, the steel in her voice fell away to reveal the tattered hope beneath it. "What I was doing, who I was serving... it all came into sharp relief when I saw them. You must have been just as shocked, but I..." The woman choked on her words, nails scratching against stone. "By Elune, I thought they were dead and gone... the only reason they'd never come. I'm sorry."

Triadae's eyes widened as the words thundered inside her ears in tune to her heartbeat. She opened her mouth to speak, only to be silenced again.

"After what happened... I rebelled. They found me, and I tried to kill them. This camp here? It's for the ones that are useless. The ones to be used as lessons to everyone else; the failures, the traitors. They give us things to do, but we all know we're little more than cattle coming home to the slaughter. Heh, I'm one of the lucky ones. I live these last days in pain, but it will be over soon." Her hands moved quickly, gripping and squeezing Triadae's shoulders so tightly that the smaller woman was forced to bite back a scream.

"He's coming. He's coming, and we're all going to die beneath his flame. Not you... no. Not you, not your friends. I need you. A favor that I have no business asking, but I am begging you to find it in your heart to forgive me and do this final thing for me. Do this for me, and I will help you get out." The fingers began to shake, words breaking into quiet sobs and pleas. "Had I known, had I not fallen into such hate, I'd have found them myself. A favor, it is all I ask!"

"You'll have it." Her voice was quiet, but it didn't need to be more than a breath to catch the attention of the Kaldorei. Triadae's arms lifted, her own hands gripping the arms of the other woman in the embrace of kin. "I forgive you, for all that you did to me."

Through tears, the Kaldorei nodded quickly, relief coloring her tone again. She released Triadae, reaching into her tattered robes and pulling a necklace over her head, dropping it into Triadae's palm. A simple silver necklace, with an ornate ring attached. "Give this to Lydros. Tell him... tell him I'm sorry that I did not tell him the truth. I'm sorry that I hid her from him all this time, out of necessity and out of love." Her hands shook, and she clasped them together. "Winnie... tell her that there's a box for her in my home, hidden beneath the bed slats. The worgen... Brinny, tell her...

Tell her that she was the last thing I saw before I walked into that portal. The last thing that gave me hope that it would be alright. Tell her that I never stopped hoping she'd come for me, to release me from the trap I had built around myself. Deep down, I never stopped hoping... my tools are hers." Her voice faded, tired. "Tell them all that I loved them. It was that love that turned on me, became resentment and sorrow and hate. Tell them, tell my friends, that I am so very sorry."

A cry rose in the camp, and people pushed around them, all heading for one place. All heading for the fires where the hammers worked. Ninya knew, and could not bring herself to look up. "There is a crevice in the rocks not far from here. You won't make it out of the camp without violence, which will bring the entire place down on you. If you try to run, others will try, it would be a madhouse. But there's a crevice in the rocks, between two of the stones. You can climb it, straight to the top. We liked to sit up there at times. Watch freedom.

It's shielded from sight, and if you're quick and careful, you can get over the ridge at the top. I can't say it'll be easy getting down... but it's better than dying here. We marked the place with white, so you'll find it easily. I'll... make certain that no one is looking at you. Just get out, and get out alive. Tell them... and live. Tear this horror that we have started down around their ears." She backed away, grabbing Triadae's shoulder and shoving her violently away in the direction she should go. "Whatever you do... don't look up."

The warrior cringed as people flooded around her, battering her and trying to draw her to the others without even realizing it. In the confusion, Ninya vanished without a word, and Triadae whirled to push against the current, muttering something about forgotten hammers to those who might complain. It seemed an eternity before she was free from the crowd, and she stumbled forward a few steps against the loss of force, only to be grabbed again.

"It's me!"

Ashadel's voice flooded her ears, and without a thought, the warrior grabbed the wrist of the other woman and all but hauled her after as she set in search of the rocks that she had been told of. She ignored the protests and pleas of the other woman, her mind focused only on her task. When the rock came into view, she all but threw the rogue ahead of her, even as the prickle of fear and horror began to make it up her spine again.

"Dea -"

Triadae's gloved hand snapped over the rogue's mouth, her voice a hiss. "Don't say it. I don't care about anything other than getting ourselves out of here. Get behind the rock, get in the crevice, and start climbing." She watched the startled rogue move for a moment before looking back, and saw a hand lift above the crowd with dagger drawn...

… and then it plunged, and the shout went up again. The clash of steel on metal could be heard, and she realized deep in her gut what the Kaldorei had done. She turned away, following Ashadel into the crevice to find that it was less of a crevice and more of a chute, making her bite back a wash of bile and horror once more. The two climbed while the sounds became louder; screams, steel, the scent of burning flesh... and then the feeling of the ground shuddering as something large hit it. Triadae nearly climbed into her companion's backside, not realizing the woman had stopped.

"Don't think about it, and keep moving."

"I don't work like that."

"I don't care!" Triadae's hiss broke into a clipped snarl. "Keep moving!"

They climbed. For what seemed like hours they climbed, until at last they could feel fresh air against broken skin, and they both hauled themselves from the chute with grateful gasps of air that seemed too thin and not nearly enough to feed the burning muscles. The warrior glanced up, made the mistake of focusing on the dancing flames in the sky, and felt fear freeze her.

Deathwing needed no introduction. There were few alive who did not know one story or another that centered around the corrupted dragon, but it was one thing to hear a tale, and another to see it in person. The largest dragon she had seen, his flame riddled body – one that was falling apart at the seams – made an impressive statement against the black wall of night.

_How do we save a world from that? _Her mind screamed the words she wanted to say, and she pulled her eyes from the looming spectre of death to glance at the fighting below. It had become carnage, and she could just barely make out the bloodied form of Ninya, unmoving amidst a pile of wounded and dying. _Is sacrifice the only way? Just looking at him... all hope seems to fly away. I'm terrified..._

"Get up. We need to move. We need to go." She pushed herself to her feet, grasped the arm of the rogue who stared in numb shock at the Aspect of Death, and hauled. Together, they staggered over sharp rocks, looking for the quickest way down, and their steps became more hurried as they heard the roar of the dragon behind them, felt the flames of his anger and heard the screams of those that had survived only to be baked alive...

… and then the mountain really did shudder. Triadae nearly tripped over Ashadel as the rogue froze, and the warrior was privy to a moment of panic and horror that she had never expected to see. The mountain shook again, and sound seemed to close in on them and blasted away with a noise that could have rivaled any thunderclap.

Ashadel screamed, a sound of terror realized... and Triadae grasped her, pulling her close as the mountainside came down around them.


	37. Chapter ThirtySix: Poison in the Mind

"_You must open yourself to the Light, Tria."_

"_Why? What has the Light done for me?"_

"_You know that answer far better than I do, my friend. Look to your heart, where your love and belief once stayed. I know the pain you have felt, but you must let it go. You must trust!" _

_Gentle hands pushed dark hair away from Triadae's eyes, but she didn't dare look up from her own hands that knitted and twisted together to hide the shaking that went into her very core. "I don't believe anymore, Hana. I could mend the deepest of wounds with my faith. I could bring people from the very brink of that last breath!" Her voice raised, pain and sorrow twisting into something closer to rage. "I should have been able to bring her back! I gave everything to the Light, I placed all my faith in the ideals. I believed... I believed!" Her voice cracked and she hid her shame in her palms, pressing her hands up against her face as her body shuddered._

"_We are all tested, Tria. Sometimes, the tests are painful and too close, so that we will truly know the depths of our beings." The bed dipped as the blood knight sat down at Triadae's feet, her hands on the woman's shins. "You are not all-powerful, you cannot do the things that we hear in children's tales. How do you know it was her desire to return? You fought for your life, and she fought for hers. The Li - ..."_

"_The Light had nothing to do with the blow I landed! It had nothing to do with the way she laughed as I tried to save her, nothing to do with the way I felt myself grow angry that the wound was not sealing, and don't tell me it was because her body was long dead. It wasn't! I felt her heartbeat, Hana..." The plea returned, eyes made more vivid by the redness of crying turning on the blonde. "I pleaded with the Light, I begged it to give that heartbeat more time, more pulses... anything. She claimed she was dead, they all claimed she was dead, but I felt the life beneath my hands... I felt it..." Once more the voice cracked into sobs, and she flinched away from Hana's gentle touch, her posture becoming dismissive._

_She didn't look up, didn't open her eyes, even as the younger blood knight stood from the bed and placed the table beside Triadae once more. The rich scent of hot tea filled the room, a ghostly echo to the warm presence of the woman. "I don't believe anymore, Hana..." Her tone had turned flat, finality present in it. There was no response for a long time, and she knew that the girl was searching for the best way to respond to her._

"_What we turn our backs on appears again one day when we least expect it."_

Soothing warmth was replaced by the warmth brought on by weight, the cold press of unknown material heated by a body and returned. The scent of tea, sweet and pungent, washed into that of sweat and fear, dirt and blood. Silence faded into that of steady breathing; one of slumber, another of patient and knowledgeable fear. Her eyes opened, and the vision of the past became a ghost in the fog that she could barely recall past the sight of ashen hair and torn leather. She dared not move, afraid to find that she had become trapped and that her last moments would be those spent slowly suffocating beside one who slept peacefully.

The warrior shut her eyes tightly, willing the mountain to crush them both quickly if she made a mistake, and reached a hand outward above herself. Skin touched nothing more than air, until her back arched and truly reached for stone above them, and found that the rocks above were knit firmly together, impossible to budge or fall atop them. Her breathing raced for a moment, a dry chuckle of fear dispersed into disbelief as she sat up and traced her fingers along the rocks, moving slowly for the sake of not falling over the other who was trapped with her.

Safe. The word rang in her mind as she found no place for the rock to fall inward and crush them, cocooning them both perfectly within. Her attention turned instead to the rogue who lay crumpled on the floor of the miniature cave, eyes adjusting to the darkness enough to see the easy rise and fall of her breast, and the few streaks of red where skin had been cut.

"We should be dead," she said to no one. Her body ached; not with the fire of inflicted pain, but with the dull twinge of energy expelled. It was a feeling that unnerved her more than their predicament, and she shoved it aside while slowly moving Ashadel into a more comfortable position. There were no signs of damage aside from those few scratches, but Triadae remembered the way the rogue had screamed and how the woman had frozen with terror in her eyes. A terror revisited, the dumb shock that came with watching a freak accident happen all over again.

"You fell." She stated it simply, sitting back on her heels to look over the woman. "I watched you jump, though. You seemed fine, which means that you fell in a way that you had no control."

"Avalanche." The rogue whispered the word drowsily, her head turning in the direction of the warrior's voice. "Made a wrong step, the mountain came down around me."

"You're lucky to be alive," Triadae propped a chin in her palm, inhaling deeply, almost a yawn.

Ashadel moved, seeming to test the space they were enclosed in just as Triadae had. The warrior watched her carefully, expecting her to double up in pain any moment. "I didn't live through it," the rogue admitted at last. "My lover found me, tried to push his rune magic into me to save me, and failed. I died after he managed to use a stone to take me home. I wasn't brought back by a priest or druid, shaman or paladin. It was a warlock, and only by the sacrifice of another."

"I'm not sure which I find more questionable; a resurrection by dark magic, or the fact you refer to a dead man as your lover." Triadae tipped back, landing heavily on her rear and folding her legs in front of her.

"There's some things that we do when we have no choice. I was a whore, once. More than that, I was a slave. The kind that was tormented with the idea of freedom and loyalty. I could have been free, but my tormentor knew how to draw me in. He played off of my guilt, and it was a long time before I knew that I could be given a choice on what I did. I didn't have that choice at first," the rogue moved to sit up and mirror Triadae's position while she spoke. "I was used to being pulled into alleys and buildings, used to the incessant pawing and quick moments of boring lust. I met many who learned of what I endured and wished to help, and it was because of them that I even began to fight back.

But one wasn't so obvious about it. There was something about him that brought me peace, and the way he touched me possessively while restraining himself was... intriguing. He didn't want me while I was the property of another, he felt that it was... too much like borrowing. He didn't want to borrow. I fell in love with him, and I still am in love with him. He wanders, and I wander... and sometimes we don't see each other for a very long time, but there is no one else who has my heart like he does. If he's a dead man, then I'm a princess."

Triadae watched the woman quietly, noting the way her voice became quieter near the end. When it seemed the rogue had nothing left to offer, she swallowed her pride and spoke plainly. "I was in love with a man, once. He was awkward, and talked too much when he should have been quiet, but he was my best friend." She wasn't surprised to find that her own voice had dropped while the painful confession made it's way out of her. "We practically grew up together, and at some point, my love became something like a girlish crush in my eyes. I abandoned it, without ever telling him, and he and I grew up but never really apart.

"I can name every moment he was there, and all of those that he wasn't. When he went through the portal with the mad prince, I let him go for good. I grew up in the span of a few months, shedding my duties and taking up the mantle of something else. When he returned, I was engaged to another man. I can still remember the way my throat clenched around itself, like I had swallowed a glass of sand and it wasn't going down. The way I saw the light in his eyes, that bright joy of a friend reunited, dim into a quiet sorrow... I had grown apart from my old self so much that I had forgotten what it looked like when a hope was left to die.

"I saw that look a lot while I was engaged. When my arms were around the man I loved – and I truly did love the man I was engaged to – or when I spoke about him. As happy as I was to have my best friend back, I never once thought that I was trampling on his feelings. I had actually become so very blind to them." She gave a quiet laugh, and shook her head slowly. "It wasn't like he wasn't surrounded by women all the time. The man had only to extend a hand, and he had a cluster of women around him as easily as a bee to a flower. I teased him about it, sometimes. How he could have anyone he wanted, and yet he never chose any of them for longer than a night."

"He was waiting."

"Yes, he was. I didn't know it until I finally crushed his hope for good. I never did get married; my sister put an end to that rather abruptly. He stayed by my side, helped me through my pain and sadness, and even helped me build the wall up around myself that I started making with bricks as big as the Great Sea. Anything to make me comfortable, he did. When I thought he was getting too close again, when I thought his hopes were rising to a point they shouldn't, I told him straight out that it would never be possible.

"It... hurt. Like someone was twisting my heart and pulling it out of my chest; I barely managed to walk away from him before I broke down. All that time I had where I could have told him, all that time I had spent denying it, and the pain in his eyes that I saw only confirmed what I had done to him, and to myself." She rubbed the fingers of one hand, steadying her voice. "I wasn't just blind to his affection for me. I was blind to the fact that I loved him still."

"You could take it back. There's still time to be honest..."

"Not this time." She spoke with that same flat tone, that same hint of finality that she had sworn off everything else that had mattered to her over and over during her life. "He's moved on, and I am glad for it. I don't like the one he is with, but I believe that is only the hurt speaking. I'd likely find the most unspoiled and kind woman to be completely unfit for him, just out of bitter contempt. That nagging little voice that tells me that there will never be anyone who can love him like I did. Like I do."

Her fingers danced along her forehead, twisting red hair around before releasing it and sighing again. "I want to tell him, sometimes. Just to have him break down and yell at me. Just to hear him laugh, even if it would be mocking. Anything but the way he just... looks through me. Yet, I'd die for him if he asked me to. I would be willing to give my everything."

She fell silent, and it remained that way for a long time while the rogue left her to her thoughts. It had been so easy to spill everything when she was sure that this would be the end for her. "What an end," she breathed, leaning back against the wall.

"Get some sleep, Red." Ashadel's voice was distant, spoken through a fog, and it was only then that the warrior realized that the blonde had gotten closer and was touching her bare skin with her bare hands. Something crackled between their skin, something that felt like dust, and Triadae slumped against the wall bodily, her eyes closing even as she whispered with a staggered breath.

"Why?"


	38. Chapter ThirtySeven: Say Goodbye

_**AN: **I hated this chapter. I love the characters, but I absolutely hated it because I knew just how badly it would affect one of my characters. I also had an opportunity to introduce a younger character who never really makes an appearance unless it's in my adult stories. If you've read Black Collar Twins, you'll know which one she is. Black Collar is set further into the future, but here are that character's modest beginnings._

_In other news, I'm really starting to get this blogging thing down. Be sure to check my blog once in a while, and feel free to chatter about on any posts I make there. I'll hush for a while. Enjoy._

* * *

"... just keep..."

"... waking up?"

"Paladin... lucky..."

"Should be dead."

Words filtered into her ears as she slept, rousing only long enough from the coils of warmth around her to hear broken words before succumbing to the siren call and falling back to sleep once more. She was aware of the feeling of soft cloth on her body, the security of her armor gone to be replaced by the comfort of a dark place that non would find her in. Triadae slept, uncaring of the world that moved around her as others tended to her and then left once more.

Consciousness returned to her slowly; at first the dancing of light barely seen beyond closed eyes, and then the acknowledgment of movement that gently rocked her like a cradle. The illusion was shattered as a sharp bump jostled her and sent things rattling around her before they settled again, and she lifted her head from the pillow to look about into dimly lit darkness.

Two long rectangles of light flanked either side of her. The one closest yielded beneath her touch; a window that had been closed tightly, but warped wood made the light peek in. Questing fingers found cloth above the window, and a few tugs lowered a shade over it, dousing the light that had begun to make her head ache dully. She moved to do the same to the other one, her long legs tucking up, and she was stopped by the sound of soft complaint, and a warmth at her legs shifting and moving.

The warrior rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, keeping them covered as the figure moved around more, and did what she had intended to do in the first place. The darkness did not last for long, as another bump set things clattering and a whispered word threw the room into light that was quickly shaded by a tiny hand.

"M' head hurts." Her words were thick with disuse, and she coughed in an attempt to clear her throat that only made her cough more fully, her head pounding with the effort. "Ergh..."

"You've been asleep for a week."

The light dimmed slightly, hidden away by a panel that stopped it from piercing into her head. The shuffling quickened, and then stopped as the figure came near again and wrapped her hand around a flask. Triadae lingered with that touch, running the pad of her finger along the back of the hand offered. "You're small," she stated stupidly, taking the flask and draining the fresh water from it greedily.

"Children often are."

The soft voice was feminine and laced with an amused, if mildly bored, sort of tone. The small hands took the empty flask from her, leaving her to hiccup softly while the assumed child fetched other things. The elder woman leaned back as a small table was placed over her lap, the scent of sharp cheese and cold meats assailing her groggy senses. Her stomach rumbled, and she stared dumbly at he platter before her as if she had no idea what she could possibly do with it. She was hungry, and knew this... but her body was taking too long to respond. "Where am I?"

"Mother's caravan." The child sat opposite her on the bed and rolled a bit of cheese in a slice of meat, leaning forward and poking at Triadae's lips with the concoction. Obediently, the woman opened her mouth and allowed herself to be fed while the girl spoke. "You were brought back unconscious after your rescue. Ashadel confessed to drugging you, but you reacted to the drug in a way she didn't anticipate. You may have been allergic to one of the ingredients. The antidote she gave you knocked you out further than the original drug intended you to be," she paused as she rolled up another bit of meat and cheese, "She said you were talking in a way that made her feel as if you intended to die."

Triadae didn't speak while she chewed, her mind clear enough to recall common courtesies. The girl didn't seem to mind this, continuing in her methodical feeding as if she was used to such things. "You were in one of the other carts, but Mother decided to move you here when you didn't come out of it after we left Hyjal. She wanted to keep a better eye on you, but what really ended up happening was that she's dealt with other things while I've stayed with you." She paused for a moment before continuing, "Mother requires the children to stay inside when we move out, but the wolf girl ran off when we entered Winterspring and vanished. We stayed in place for two days, but we couldn't stay any longer. We'll be at the Timbermaw tunnels by the middle of the night, and Felwood by morning."

"Wolf girl... Brinella?" Triadae swallowed her food and looked around for something else to drink. "Why'd she run off?"

The child moved again, bringing over more water that Triadae eagerly gulped down. "We don't know. Vernos says she took off after a set of tracks, but he couldn't follow her once the blizzard started. The most he knew was that the prints were some of the biggest he'd seen around here, and were certainly feline. The tracks are long gone, now. Hers, and the cat's."

They sat in silence for a time, rocking with the cart and listening to the whistling wind outside the cart. Twice more, the child moved to get more for the older woman to drink, until Triadae at last set the platter and tray aside and moved to place her feet on the wooden floor. She found it surprisingly warm, wriggling her toes over the smooth material in wonder.

"Mother takes good care to make certain that the caravan can live in even the worst places. The magic that is woven around us has many different uses. May I get the light? Mother said there was a robe you could use, and I need light to do it. My dark sight is not as keen as most elves. Thank you." The light brightened the area again, illuminating the child and the cart in a warm glow.

Triadae had been expecting a youth, but not one as young as that who wandered in search of things in front of her. The child was pale, though not sickly. No marks were on her face or visible skin, and her crow-dark curls were bound back from a sweetheart face set with slightly tilted silver eyes. Even so young, she was breathtaking to behold in her grace and gentle manner. Yet even that did not startle her as much as what the child wore. Robes of black silk embraced her form, bell sleeves hiding her slender arms and delicate hands when at rest, and they were stitched with the runes that were meant to harness, subdue, focus, and channel latent energy. The twisting silver thread entranced the warrior, and she noted that they were all meant for great amounts of power.

"How old are you?"

The child turned towards her, holding a simple grey tunic and white leggings, her head cocked slightly. Her eyes, wide with the nature of a child and yet full of the knowledge of the old, focused on the warrior in a manner that made her feel as if she had asked the wrong thing. The look passed quickly, and the child seemed to think for a few moments. "I'm not yet ten years old."

"Those runes..."

"I have trouble controlling my arcana. Mother's dedication is to Elune, my father is a High Priest of Neptulon. He's a very skilled magi, and his family have always borne powerful people." Her unsettling silver eyes focused on Triadae again, the small amount of pride that had been in her voice dashed away by the warrior's stare. "Yes, I'm a half-breed. No, I don't know where my father is. He's a very important person, and doesn't have time for Mother's martyr ways and policies." She rattled it off as if it were a mantra she had heard a thousand times before, and handed the clothes over to Triadae. "Mother left the priestesses to gain the knowledge she needed to keep me in check. If my father can't be here, at least she can.

You're taller than Mother, but she's far more filled out than you. These may be a little loose, but you're welcome to them. I'll find a sash while you dress, and you may use my brush to sort your hair out if you need. Your boots are by the door, but everything else was too beaten up to keep. Our craftsmen are some of the best, but all of them deemed your things too far gone to save."

Triadae stood and turned away, feeling awkward beneath the child's stare, as if the girl could see to the very furthest corners of all that she wished to keep away. It was while she was dressing and trying to figure out just how much more 'filled out' the child's mother was that the girl spoke again.

"Ashadel says you're a paladin." The girl was behind her, reaching fingers to touch the crimson hair that streamed in knotted strands down Triadae's back. "The man who calls you his friend says that you're not one. That you haven't been able to call on the Light in a long time, nor have you had the desire to. Ashadel does not lie, and would not say such things if she had not seen them first hand. So why would you tell others you are something you are clearly not?"

The warrior turned to look down at the girl, fussing with keeping the leggings that were clearly meant for wider hips up above her own. "What makes her say that?"

"She said there was no way either of you should have survived that drop. Forgetting the drop, the massive amount of rubble that drop atop of you was enough to make those who had made it out think that you two were both dead. Yet, you were found completely whole, with barely a mark on you." The child held out a sash, and Triadae took it and worked it through the leggings to bind them firmly. "She said she felt a presence, something only found around those quite devoted to the Light."

"I used to be a Blood Knight. The paladin equivalent among my people. Before that, I was a priestess like your mother. Those days are long gone, far behind me now. Whatever she saw or felt... it had nothing to do with me. I can't even pretend that I hope it was." She sat down, looking for the brush only to have it handed over to her by the girl. She nodded her thanks, pulling her hair over her shoulder and pulling the brush through the tangles.

"Luck only goes so far. Many would find it difficult to believe that you aren't hiding something." The child clambered onto the bed, sitting beside her and taking the brush to move behind and gently comb through the tangled tresses with care. "Be careful that you do not pass off what you are capable of as simply... 'luck.'" She set the brush down to weave her fingers through a particularly difficult snarl. "I believe you, though."

"You do?"

"Yes." The child shifted her position, sitting on Triadae's side to pull the longest layer of hair into her lap and combing through it like she might a cat. "Mother made the choice to give up her capabilities as a priestess of her deity. Of our deity," the girl smirked as Triadae shot her a look, "I choose to believe that she who has guarded my Mother is not picky about those who would choose to believe in her. Granted, my Mother's kin do not truly approve of me, given my blood. I receive the same treatment among humans, so I have little care to admit my beliefs. The Light is an ideal that I follow, that I want to believe in. I don't believe there's some god of Light that many of the other humans do, but I believe in the ideals."

"You're a pretty smart kid."

"Mother tells me that all the time. So do others. If you hear something enough, you're bound to believe it eventually. I don't need others to tell me that I'm amazing, or beautiful, or anything else." The child's tone was blunt, completely factual. "I know my limits and capabilities, but I love to push them. I'm intelligent because I've never allowed anything others believe to be beyond me actually remain out of my reach. I read, I ask questions, I practice. Sometimes, I fail. I'm a pretty girl, because my mother and father are attractive people. That much, I cannot help.

How much do _you_ need others to tell you?" Her tone had turned curious, gentle. "You talked in your sleep quite a bit. Things you said, it sounded like you had a lot of guilt. That you ached for approval that others would gladly give you, but you refused to believe. You are a... confusing individual. Something I cannot understand."

Triadae chuckled softly, almost sadly, and took the brush from the girl and set it back on the small table it had been resting on. "Some things are best not known. If I confuse you, then I can only assure you that my own confusion is countless times deeper. I wish I had answers, but I don't."

For a moment, the girl's brows furrowed and she saw the slightest flicker of a glow in the silver eyes. The full lips pulled in a frown, and Triadae could have sworn she saw the faintly pointed ears twitch in irritation. Then the moment passed, the storm calmed, and the girl brightened in a manner that she was sure was rare. "Do you like to read, warrior?"

"Tria, and yes, I do."

"My name is Kas'viri. You may call me Viri. What do you like to read?"

"Anything." She grinned. "I liked stories about dragons, when I was younger."

Kas'viri scrambled off of the bed to open another cabinet and withdraw a large tome that she brought back to the bed with a skip in her step. She placed it gently on Triadae's lap before she climbed back into the bed and snuggled down under the blankets and looked up at the warrior with a sweet smile. "I'm sleepy. Would you read to me?"

Triadae chuckled softly, running fingers over the leather cover before she arranged herself beside the child with her back against the wall, and opened the book. The hours passed quickly, and she continued reading long after the girl fell asleep against her side. From time to time, she'd catch herself slowly sliding fingers through the dark curls that spilled over the child's shoulder and her pillow, and she was reminded strongly of Tiroth and the child her sister had borne with him. She wondered if he had these moments, these quiet times where a story was a shared joy, where looking at a child made one feel like they had accomplished everything. Even the fact the child was not hers could not demolish the calm that she felt.

Her thoughts were jostled when the cart stopped moving, the soft sound of Kas'viri turning to her other side and burying herself beneath the covers missed beneath the louder sound of people moving on the roof of the cart above her. Laying the book aside, she stood and grabbed a cloak from beside the door before opening it slowly, peering out into the white of the landscape that had become colored with the dusky hues of twilight.

"Those noises. Damn it all, it's either mating or fighting."

Triadae glanced upwards and caught sight of a cloak that was hanging over the side of the cart's roof. Closing the door behind her, she leaped lightly down from the platform and circled around to find others who were talking among themselves, huddled together for warmth while others ran between the other carts.

"Sound travels far out here. They could be miles off, they could be close. Anything near the carts is a threat. Keep your eyes on the trees. Damned cats are like ghosts out here. Damn it, Tanner! Get back in the cart with your sisters. You know the rules! Matron would have my head if she caught you out here."

She backed against the cart as a thin boy went scrambling by, his wind-chapped face flushed. One of the men peeled away from the group to follow, missing Triadae completely. Others were not so blind, and she found herself approached quickly by several cloaked figures.

"You're awake. Good, my sister will be happy to know that you're not a lost soul." Silver eyes pierced her, a mingled look of bland distaste and detached acceptance plain in the gaze. The woman was taller than her by a head, if not more, and blue hair could be made out beneath the brown of the hooded cloak that concealed the rest of her. "I trust you were not disturbed by the whelp?"

"No," Triadae frowned at the reference, but others did not seem to be offended. "She was polite company. Gave me things to wear, helped me brush my hair, and told me what had happened while I was asleep. I read a book to her, and she's asleep. The others... -"

"Are fine." The woman flicked a dismissive hand towards the back few carts, her eyes not leaving the shorter warrior. "A little bruised and shaken, but far more worried for you. I've hardly been able to control the fel weaver; his mate has had no more luck than I. Only the threat of throwing you out into the cold seemed to make him think twice. No, I would not have done it," she amended at Triadae's shocked look, "It's important for others to believe that I would, however."

"Brutal as always, Temis." The male that had left to go after the child returned again, his hood thrown back to reveal black hair that framed a darkly tanned face and vivid blue eyes. His clothing was thick, covered with belts and buckles, pouches and other various things that Triadae couldn't have even hoped to think that she could discern. His rugged appearance lent him a pleasing look. '_For a human_,' she considered.

"Someone has to be. Else, we would never get what we need without compliments and bartering, Vernos." The woman turned away, stalking alone to the edge of the road they had stopped on and gazing out over the snowy landscape. Others dispersed as well, but the human male came closer and nodded.

"Good to see you up and walking. Your friends have been worried about you, you can find them around here somewhere. That warlock friend of yours has a mean temper that's only gotten worse over the last week. You can hear him and that woman of his arguing clear to the front of the line. The other two keep their distance from them. Do I have something on my face?" His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

"No, I was just thinking. You're the one who tracked Brinella, aren't you?"

"Eh, you heard about that? Musta been the kid. Uncanny girl, that one. Yeah, I followed her as far as I could before the trail was wiped out. We don't really like anyone going off alone, and she bolted off so fast I thought there was somethin' chasing her. Her ears were perked and everything; easier to read than a dog. Whatever got her, she knew it." He shrugged and motioned out towards the forest. "I've been keeping an eye out for her, thinkin' she might come after us. No sign so far, and it's been a few days. Have to admit that I'm worried. One of the prides is really worked up; must be cubs bein' born. They aren't usually like this."

Triadae nodded, her eyes catching sight of a few familiar faces, and she excused herself to slip through the crowds and touch the arm of the tallest. Lydros glanced at her at first, then put his full attention on her when he realized who it was that had approached.

"They say Brinella ran off." Her brows knit together as he looked away, back the way she had come. "She wouldn't just take off without a reason, would she?"

"What do ye care?" The shortest figure grunted beneath her cloak, throwing the hood back and placing her fists on her hips while glaring up at the elf. "We onleh jus' got 'er back, ye hear? She's changed. She's wilder, more skittish. Won't talk ta us like she used ta, like she's been tryin' ta put a wall between us. Tha' demon shaman was suppose ta cure 'er, but tha most tha's happened is she's just there."

"Stop it, Winnie." Lydros spoke his words beneath his breath, but the dwarf went quiet with little more than a grumble. "She caught scent of her fiance. The one who got her out of Gilneas and then vanished. I remember her telling us that he was like her, but ran around as a feline. I heard her whisper his name before she darted off."

"Ye idiot!" Winnie stormed back into the conversation, aiming a kick at Lydros' shin that completely missed it's mark and instead scattered a pile of snow. "Ye said ye hadn't the bloodiest clue why she went dartin' off! Ye lyin' oaf! What else ye been hidin'? More nightmarin'? More dreams? More women! Argh! Ye cannae lie ta me like this, ye lon' eared, high falutin'..." Her insults were ignored as Triadae grasped his hand and made him focus on her, an act that took more than she would have first thought.

"Your friend is dead." It was the first thing that came to her mind now that it was clear, and her voice had become soft and urgent. "Her sacrifice got me and another out of the camp we were in, but she's dead. I was supposed to give you something of hers, but I don't know where it is. Don't risk losing another friend."

Lydros' eyes flared with rage for a moment, his hand gripping hers so hard she thought he might break it, but then he calmed himself and a deep sorrow appeared instead. Without even a name, he knew the truth. His hand released hers, and he looked back at Winnie, still caught in her tirade, and unhooked a small hunting knife from his belt and handed it to her. "Directly to our west. My owl will lead you." Regret tinged his voice. "I can't leave her."

The warrior nodded, taking the knife and stowing it away. "I'll bring this back. Your owl..." She glanced up as he pointed, spotting an ethereal shape sitting in one of the trees, barely visible. "You don't make this easy, do you?" With a nod, she slipped away from him and his companion, and into the trees themselves. The large owl dropped from it's perch and followed.

She made one discovery quite quickly – she hated snow. It was as difficult to move through as sand, but colder and a hundred times more likely to kill you. By the time she crested the first hill, she was soaked to the bone, her hair plastered to her face and quickly freezing. Whatever enchantment that kept the cart warm had been extended and worked into the cloak, but not the clothes she wore. Twice, she hit thin ice and plunged into freezing water up to her knees. Only after she glared a particularly nasty glare at the owl did it begin to warn her when she was nearing a dangerous area, and she spent the rest of her time floundering into drifts instead.

By the time she stopped again, the glow of the campfires that had been started by the caravan were out of sight and so were the voices. Around her was only the sound of ice laden trees breaking or exploding, and above it all, the noises that had guided her. The owl drifted lazily above her before swooping off in another direction, and with a shiver, she followed carefully down the hill to where the ethereal beast perched on a snow covered boulder.

Below them, something trudged through the snow as if unfamiliar with it. Brown against white, it was a stark contrast that riveted her to it even as it loped along, struggling against the snow and floundering in places even as she herself had done. There was another sound; the angry hissing roar of a feline that was agitated, and the brown figure turned back around and lunged into what seemed to be a wall of white. The tussle lasting only a few moments, and the brown was throw off course into the snow.

Triadae watched the snow ripple and move, and realized that what she was seeing was something even more eerie than the ghostly owl beside her. Vernos had not been exaggerating about the difficulty of seeing what was clearly large and deadly; the feline, massive even from the distance she was at, stalked after the stunned figure and was nearly upon it before the brown managed to rise and strike out again. The sound it made raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Though it cried out, she was certain she heard the plaintive wail of a woman behind the noise.

Grabbing the knife that Lydros had given her, the warrior slid and stumbled down the hill in an intense display of lack of skill, quickly darting into the furrows made by the larger feline. Closer up, she could see that the brown figure was also feline, but far smaller and longer, made mostly of a long tail. There was something about the green eyes of it that only made her back feeling worse, and she grabbed up a chunk of ice and did the only rational thing she could think of.

She chucked it at the back of the saber, hitting it in a painfully sensitive area that awarded her another roar and then the complete and utter focus of the deadly adversary. She barely noticed the other cat slink away as the white one came barreling at her, a furry mass of teeth and claws that spurred her to unsheathe the knife and attempt to defend herself.

An action that didn't even seem to be needed as a blur of brown threw the larger feline off-course. Triadae felt her blood run cold as the beast battled with the smaller animal, and then it threw it's opponent and bolted for the trees. Moments passed, Triadae struggling with fear and cold before she moved to where she thought she had seen the brown cat fall, and found the fallen figure of Brinella instead.

The woman was nude, thick fur covering her body, but not the wounds that she had endured. Already, the green glow of rejuvenating energy was working over her body and knitting together the broken skin, but the smell of blood was strong enough that Triadae gagged a moment before dropping beside the druid.

"Brinella." Her tone turned urgent as something snapped behind her, and she risked it to shake the druid furiously. She barely had a response before Brinella's eyes shot open, and Triadae was all but hauled a dozen feet away as the larger feline dropped upon them, and another fight broke out. The hissing of battling cats was gone, and now the wounded yelps of a canine were heard more as the two rolled, bit, slashed, kicked, and tussled around the clearing in a deadly dance.

When the white feline had it's back turned to her, she lunged at it, driving the dagger deep into it's hindquarters and gaining it's attention again. With it came Brinella's, and the warrior felt herself lifted off her feet and carried away while the feline thrashed about in an attempt to deal with the weapon.

"Don't hurt him."

"Don't hu - … have you looked at yourself?" She didn't feel ashamed at the shriek that came out with those words, looking over the bleeding wounds that covered the worgen's body once more. The woman was trembling, barely standing, but it was her voice that caught her attention quicker than the obvious pain.

"He doesn't understand. He thinks I'm here to hurt him. To hurt his pride..."

"Pride? Brinella, he's a cat. He's got no... no pride." Too late, she realized what the worgen meant. "Not his ego, his family." She looked at the enraged cat and realized with a painful jolt all that must have been going on. "That's him? Your _fiance_?"

Brinella whined, her ears flicking back along her skull as she ducked her head and clenched her clawed hands. "I smelled him. I thought he was following us. I thought... after all this time. I was so close." Her voice broke with tears, and she backed up a step as the cat that had been her dearest love finally wrenched the dagger from his hindquarters and focused on them again. "Get up the hill. Go... go now!"

Triadae didn't have to be told twice. She moved with far more grace than she had at first, climbing up and not looking back. She didn't need to, to know that the worgen was following her. So too, she knew, was the feral druid. Even when she crested the hill, she kept running, spurred by the fear of being torn to pieces in the grasp of the one chasing them. Brinella paused only to see the feline start climbing. He made it halfway up before a keening cry sounded, and the ethereal owl dropped from the sky and hit him hard, throwing him back to the ground where he lay, stunned.

She stopped running when she realized the worgen was no longer following her, peering back to see the other woman standing at the top of the hill, her shoulders hunched. After a few moments, she turned back towards her and drew up close enough to see the owl diving at the cat, keeping it down and distracted while Brinella looked on. Triadae's gentle touch seemed to startle her, and she whined softly under a breath.

"Go."

"I can't." The single word the druid had spoken had told Triadae more than she could have ever hoped or wanted to know. "If I leave, you'll just stay here and possibly die. You don't want to let him go, but look at him. He's trying to kill you, and you're barely making it out. How much longer before he gets you, and you don't get up again?"

"I'm not ready." Brinella gasped out the words as best she could, her body shuddering with a pain the cut far deeper than her physical anguish. "They warned me, but I didn't listen. If I was just a little faster, if I hadn't had to stop for months... I want to believe he's still in there, that he just needs a few good kicks. He was always like that. Brilliant, but so damned focused sometimes."

Triadae let her ramble, listening to her as she poured out her thoughts and hopes, and yet she knew with every word that the wall of hope was coming down around her to reveal only the stark and painful reality. "He's gone, Brin. There's always a chance, always the sliver of a possibility. He's lost to you, and nothing you say or do is going to bring him back now. Whatever he was, whoever he was... he doesn't remember it now."

"Then let me stay here. Let me die here, at his hand. I've lost everything else that I loved, so why can't I just... why can't I just... -" Her voice cracked again, and she assumed the same visage of a wounded wolf as her natural instincts and sorrow battled each other for dominance. "I just wanted one thing to go right. I kept smiling, I kept hoping. All the nightmares, all the fears, I could deal with it all if I could just have him back with me.

I can't do it. I'm not ready to let him go, and I know that to stay is to doom myself, and I don't care. With him, I at least still had Adeline. Some part of her, someone who remembered her as dearly as I did. I promised her... I promised Addy..." For a final time, her voice cracked, and Triadae was sure that the worgen would fall there and not move again, so violent had her trembling become.

She didn't know how to help her. The sheer size of the worgen made her intimidating, but the depth of her sorrow was a terror all it's own; a horrific mirror that she didn't want to look into for fear that she would relive her nightmares all over again. Still, she swallowed and reached a hand out to touch the rough fur, seeing the worgen as a woman, instead of the monster she had always seemed.

Beneath her touch, the worgen trembled and tensed, and then finally released a breath that she must have been holding for a long time. With a halting step, Brinella backed away from the hill where the owl still worked to distract a now clearly infuriated feline, and then turned away and continued on, every step seeming to drain away more and more of her size, until she was practically crawling along.

Triadae followed in silence, and when Brinella finally collapsed in the snow, she knelt beside her and gathered the nude woman into her arms and covered them both with the cape while the worgen turned woman cried into her shoulder. They were not disturbed by anything, not even the ethereal owl that circled above them as a silent sentinel while Brinella screamed her pain against Triadae's chest.

It was a long time before either of them moved, but Brinella moved first. Slowly, she unfolded herself from the other woman and crouched along the ground, fur sprouting over her body as she took the shape of the feline once more, and turned blank green eyes on her companion. Triadae didn't dare offer reassurances, knowing that things would never truly feel alright, and that she had done all that she could.

Together, the two made their way back to camp. It wasn't until long into the evening, when the caravan was about to move again, that they even managed to mingle. Vernos and Temis caught sight of Triadae quickly, the male offering her his cloak for more warmth, but she declined, watching instead as Brinella veered away Lydros and Winnie, and others who wanted to know what had happened, and made straight for one of the carts. Without a sound, Brinella shifted once more, pulled the door open, and vanished inside the dark interior.

Over the next few days, Triadae heard rumors that Brinella was refusing to eat or drink, remaining in bed and merely wasting away. By the time the caravan entered the elven forests of Ashenvale by way of Felwood, and the caravan prepared to split up to allow the horde members to move through Orgrimmar to resupply, the only rumors that centered around the druid were that she had left early in the morning and had said nothing to anyone.

It wasn't until they approached Azshara that Triadae happened to spot a brown feline pacing the forests alongside the horde tangent of the caravan, and whispered silent farewells as it paused at the bridge and they went over, watching with dull green eyes before vanishing from sight.


	39. Chapter ThirtyEight: Lonely Messages

_**AN: **_An update! I'm so sorry for how long it has taken to continue this story, but continue it I shall! This story reached it's ending a few months back with the release of the Hour of Twilight patch, so there's nothing for me to do but play catch-up here... which I need to do _before_ I start my Mists of Pandaria story or continue my sequel to my Price of Freedom legacy.

I'll be working on getting updates out three days a week. No promises, but I _am_ trying!

* * *

In the scheme of things, while the world continued on as if no one else existed, she had learned to do the same. The warm lands of the Eastern Kingdoms had long been abandoned for the colder north, where she lingered in the snow and death to aid the Argent Crusade in finishing up with being rid of the last of the Scourge and those who supported them. Work was something that kept her mind clear, something that made her forget, and she had thrown herself into it with a passion that had left her heart hard and her skin thick, but some things would never fully heal.

She knew this, knew it in the very core of her being, and so when it had become too much to walk the world alone, she had sought the company of those who could teach her what she did not know. The Academy now rang in her ears, laughter and chatter that chased away the darkness that threatened her sleep. When she woke from a nightmare, they were there to ease her fears. She never spoke to them over the device they had given her, somehow feeling as if there was no reason to put herself out where she wound end up hurt again.

It still hurt. She hated the feelings that loss brought to her, those horrible moments where she didn't know which was worse. To live alone, or to die loved? All she cared about, all that she wanted, was merely knowledge. The Academy gave that to her, and when they could not, she traveled. Alone.

The snow crunched beneath her paws, and she no longer sunk into it as many others did. Her feline form had changed, she would have almost said that it had adapted, and was far more suited to roaming in the cold climes of Northrend than the panther-like form that most of her fellow druids fought in. This was, mostly, due to the fact that she rarely felt the need to fight alongside the spirit of that animal. Her passion lay in the bear, and she had grown impressively in the months that had passed.

Her rounded ears twitched back and forth, large eyes scanning the ground before she jumped from one outcropping to the next, the fur on the bottom of her feet providing her with traction that most lacked. The large rams that walked the rocky paths above her watched her with furtive glances, but she was no longer hungry for the wild sheep that roamed so freely. It had been weeks since she had returned to civilization, and though she preferred to remain out where none might find her, there was some small part of her that wanted to hear laughter again.

So it was that she slipped into the gates of Winterguard Keep, a soft growl of greeting granted to the guards who watched her with weary eyes. One smiled and reached out a hand, and she pushed her broad head up into the touch as she passed. They were tired, she knew. All of them were tired, and the watch would not rotate for another few hours at least, but the guard that had touched her seemed just a little more revitalized. A cat lover, perhaps.

Her pace picked up and she delved deeper into the town, snow providing a happy crunch beneath her paws. At the steps leading into the inn, her body changed and bulked, leaving her standing once more as the massive wolf-girl she had become accustomed to. There was a cheery call from the bar when she entered, and she raised a clawed hand in welcome before pointing out the table that she usually took.

She hadn't been sitting for long before she was joined by the barmaid, who settled a platter down of thick slabs of meat that were just barely cooked. "Here you go, darlin'. Practically moo'ing, just the way you like it. You want milk or juice this time?"

"Juice, please." Brinella watched the young woman pad away before she turned her attention to the meat. There was a reason the worgen chose the place she did when she desired to eat. Beneath the stairs in the quiet inn, the corner was shadowed and hard to see into. Which fit well when she tore into the meat as a feral beast might, not really caring about how she looked to others. At least until the barmaid returned and coughed softly to alert the druid to her presence.

"Here you go, doll. Anythin' else, you let me or Michette know. She should be around in an hour or so, and I know she likes to hear from you when you come in." The brunette chuckled as the large mug was taken and drained completely, leaving the worgen breathless. "On second thought, let me just get you one of the decanters. Oh! You have letters, I nearly forgot. I'll grab those, too." The woman scurried off, and Brinella returned to her ravenous tearing.

By the time the maid returned, Brinella had licked the plate, her muzzle, and her claws clean, and sat looking at the fire with the distant gaze that those who knew her up in the cold climate had become used to. She barely responded as the thick pack of letters was dropped down, nor when the decanter of juice was set beside them and the plate gathered up.

"You know..." The barmaid chewed her bottom lip, her free hand rubbing her neck. "You've never opened any of those. I can just toss them if you really don't want to read them..."

Brinella sighed deeply, catching the parchment with her claw and flicking each letter to view the one beneath it. "It's not that." The woman's speech had become better with time, not so halting as it had originally been when she had first changed. Large words still escaped her, still made her fumble and grow frustrated, but she did what she could to make certain that she could be understood. "I may not read them, but I will at least keep them."

_'They are all I have, after all...'_ She did not voice the thought, but it was readable enough on her features as she looked over the names that had been written. Some, she recognized simply by the handwriting. Kalthor's flowing elven script was a stark contrast to the chicken-scratch that Winnie claimed was actual writing. Lydros' thick text was as easily recognizable to her as the thin lines and gentle curves of Eaxoa's writing. On all of them, she could smell the worry and fear that had gone into every letter and every mark.

This time, even Triadae had chosen to write. There was no fear or worry on the parchment, but Brinella felt something close to loss and heartache. A strange thing to come from so strong a woman, but it was silly to see how even the smallest thing could make a mighty warrior fall. The worgen might have dismissed it, but in the back of her mind, she could not. A part of her still saw the warrior beg and plead, though it had been at least two months since they had seen each other. Brinella looked up to notice that the barmaid had slipped away, and she cracked the thick wax seal and hunched over to read.

_Druid,_

_It has been hard to write anything, let alone to you. A thousand times I have started a letter, and questioned if I come off too friendly, or distant, or rude. I crumple the page and start again, and then wonder later if something I had written before would be the better start. I've picked pages out of my trash to continue, and then toss them away again. No matter how I try, nothing seems to come out just the way I would have wished it. _

_The nightmares happen often now, so much so that I wonder if I'm really to have any other dreams in my life. The walls close in around me, I feel fire on my body, I hear laughing in my head. It's only when I'm awake and screaming that I realize the laughing, so manic and strange, was my own. In these times, I stay awake and fear the sleep that will eventually take me. _

_They have moved me back to Silvermoon City, and I remain in the home I once shared with the man I loved. It drives me mad, to be locked here while they continue about their lives. I can understand their concern, in some cases. In others, it is simply a problem that I cannot escape. I am haunted by days that I let go of, that I walked away from willingly. I know the truth now, Druid. Yet I cannot look him in the eye and tell him that I want that life back. _

_Why? I do not know. Where I once looked forward to a life with the one I loved, I see only the shadows of a dream that has become tangled and thorned, grasping at me and threatening to choke my sanity from me. I keep the door locked against all who come, even the troll and tauren who have become irreplaceable to me in so many ways._

_You will be happy to know, I think, that Kalthor and his woman do well together. I do not see them so often these days, not after I flung myself at the Priestess in hopes of clawing her face until it was nothing more than ribbons of shredded skin. Alas, I was stopped from it, and all my strength left me. Perhaps now they remain away from me in hopes that my dislike of her is merely misplaced anger._

_I don't know what it is, truthfully. I have gone from thinking it was hate, to believing it to be some sort of misplaced jealousy. Once more, my past haunts me. I wonder, then, if you suffer as I do. You were not even given the chance to say farewell, nor to explain. I know that explaining anything would never heal the rift that has come between me and Kalthor, but some naïve part of me wishes that mere words could heal what words tore apart._

_You seem to have become all but forgotten to those who wander Eversong with me. I know that those who are close to you worry. They say that you do not answer their letters. At first, I wanted to know why... but then I crumpled that letter as well, realizing that the answer was clearer to me at that moment than if I had gone searching for it myself._

_I hope, Druid, that you find the peace you seek. I can offer no words of wisdom from a body older than yours. In your haunting eyes, I saw a soul far older than mine, and I believe that you will return to your friends when you have found what you need. I cannot promise that I will be here if you have need of me. The days pass quickly, and I admit that I lose track of them when I once watched the rise and fall of the sun and moons as if my life depended on it._

… _but I do hope, and pray to some misbegotten being that you will find what you need. A place in this world where you don't know fear, or hate. I would hope for love... but I think we both have had our fill of that bitter fruit. No, I wish only that you will find peace. Is that enough for a stranger to want for someone who rescued them?_

_I ramble. I hope that this missive finds you well, no matter where you might be. _

_Regards,_

_Triadae Gildedsun_

Brinella read the letter twice more before setting it down beside the others, her nose twitching slightly. Of all the people to write her, the warrior had been the last that she had expected. As far as she was concerned, any debt was repaid between the two. Despite Triadae's initial coldness towards the druid, she had indeed been crucial to the plan that had delivered her to Eaxoa. A life for a life, and all was well in the world again. So she believed, yet the warrior seemed to need more than that.

The letters were tucked away, and Brinella stood from the table, grasping the decanter in her paw and moving towards the stairs. The barmaid saw her and nodded, offering a slight wave as the worgen vanished up into the cozy room that she had rented upon her arrival a few weeks past. The door closed behind her, and she set the decanter down and stowed the letters away with all the others before collapsing in a curled up ball of leather and fur in front of the fire.

The knock came softly at first, so much so that Brinella wasn't sure if it had been someone at the door, or the window moving in the wind. She opened one eye, peering at the window to see that darkness had fully fallen, and the smell of smoke and lack of warmth was her telling sign within the room that she had slept longer than she had intended. Her eye closed again only to snap open as the tapping started once more. Like an overgrown dog, the druid stretched her limbs and then stood.

"Coming, coming." The words were muttered, her steps stalling as the tapping became a staccato of wooden notes against the door; whoever was out there was amusing themselves immensely. Brinella grumbled beneath her breath, pulling open the door and peering out for a few long moments.

"My! You _are_ a tall one!" The voice came from low, but there was nothing but floor where the druid glanced. Confused, she stepped out into the hall and saw no one at all. The floor creaked behind her, and she whirled to find an odd sight clambering up onto her bed.

She smelled metal and gunpowder, first. The familiar scent of loaded weaponry, and that matched what her eyes saw. The short figure stood no higher than a young human child, but bore all the characteristics of a fully grown adult. A thick toolbelt around the gnome's waist held pouches that were packed so full that she worried they might burst all over the bed, and a set of thick clockwork goggles were perched high on bubblegum pink hair that was streaked with sky blue. Her – for there was the distinct scent of female – bright blue eyes peered back at the worgen as she sat, small feet rocking back and forth.

"They said I could find a bear up here, but all I found was a wolf! Not that I mind, I tend to be attacked by bears. It's awful nice to meet you, Bear! Or are you Wolf? I can do either. I'm Kika! Well, actually, I'm Kikimira Togglefront, but everyone calls me Kika. You can call me whatever you like. Hey! That's a nice knife you have there, I bet I could make it work even better. Why don't you let me look at it?" The gnome rummaged through the bag of supplies that Brinella had dropped onto the bed nearly a week ago and had yet to touch again.

"Oh, yes! Such a simple thing, I don't see why you don't fix it up just a little bit. I like to fix things. Contrary to popular belief," the gnome stopped her rapid-fire speech to tug her leather gloves off with her teeth, trading the knife from one hand to the other, "I don't let things explode nearly as much as everyone likes to believe. Now, _goblins_," Kika waved the knife around while leaning to the side a bit, her free hand rummaging in one of the bulging pouches on her left hip, "they'll blow you up without a second thought!"

Brinella opened her mouth to speak, a claw lifted to emphasize whatever she might have said, but it was lost as the gnome chugged on as if the worgen didn't even exist. Kika turned on the bed, sitting on her knees and dropping several items onto the neatly arranged bedspread. "Let's see, a little of this... some of that! Yes, yes! I can see it already!" The gnome pulled her goggles over her eyes, and Brinella barely muffled the growling laugh that formed as she spied the small woman's magnified eyes. "So! I was told I'd find a bear here, which is what I need. Well, really, I just need someone with a thick skin and the ability to take a few good hits. Not that I think there will be any hits!" Kika glanced at the worgen quickly as if to calm her, but turned her attention back to her work even faster. "Jordan can't go four steps without whining about how she'll break a nail, and Tanthy can't take a hit to save her life. You poke her and she starts whining! Can't get anything done, which is why I'm here and not them. I get things done!"

The gnome peered closely at her work, which Brinella likened more to a tangle of metal and wire more than anything actually useable, but she didn't feel that her input would have been welcome. Indeed, the gnome continued on as if she had forgotten Brinella even existed. "Anyway! We need someone who knows their way around here, which is why we asked and they told us they knew someone who could help! So we traveled all the way over here to find you, and I figured that I'd talk to you first before the others did. I'm _far _more eloquent than them, after all.

"So we're looking for something, but that something is in a cave, and there's rumors that there are bad things in the cave. So we need someone who can handle all that! I'm thinking there's nothing a bear-wolf can't handle, so you'll do! We leave in the morning, and we're going to travel through the snow, so you might want to dress warm. Then again, you have fur, so you might be warmer than all of us! Well, except me. I've got augmented wiring in all of my armor that transfers my body heat and conveys it in a much better way than average leather on it's own! So I'm nice and toasty even in the coldest environs! Pretty nifty, huh?"

Brinella had moved to the window by the time the gnome paused for breath, peering out through the frosted glass. As she expected, the gnome continued on without waiting. "Oros says there's decent ore in that cave as well, so we're kinda going in to find a bunch of things. Let's see, you like green, right? Course you do. Bear-wolves always like green. You look like a green lovin' person anyway." There were a few mercifully silent moments, and Brinella took the chance to open her mouth again only to snap it shut once more as the gnome continued.

"Anyway! It's great that you're gonna help. Here's your knife. It's much better now, and it won't explode, either! We'll see you in the morning, so you'd better get some sleep! We've got a long way to walk. Ride. Fly. Whatever you bear-wolves do. Ha! A flying bear-wolf. I bet I could make something for you that'd help with that. Wouldn't that be nifty? Anyway! I need to sleep. We're all staying here at the inn as well, so we'll see you then! Kika, out!"

Silence fell, and Brinella paused in her rhythmic thumping of her head against the window to peer back at the room. Kiki had, in what was a blessed and confusing turn of events, vanished without a sound. Nothing remained of the sprightly and talkative woman except for the imprint of her knees on the bed, and the augmented knife. Uncertain, the worgen strode to the bed and picked up the palm-sized apparatus.

It fit comfortably within her hand no matter how she held it, rectangular in shape with rounded ends. Peering closely, she could see ridges along the sides, and she carefully plucked at them until what lay within was revealed. She was surprised to find that each little arm that she pulled out was something that had once been littering the bottom of her pack. Her knife, a bit of flint, and even a ridged bit of metal that she brushed along a claw and found it filed just so. There was just one thing that puzzled the woman about the contraption.

Where the gnome had gotten the _fork_.


	40. Chapter ThirtyNine: Adventure!

Morning dawned, bringing with it light that lanced through the misted window and splayed over bedsheets that had been torn from the bed and thrown into a pile in the corner against the door. Leather armor lay in scattered heaps, and a few shredded pouches leaked precious herbs over the wooden floor. The fire was long dead, nothing but chill air wafting wisps of smoke into the seemingly empty room.

"Today, we're going to talk about feelings."

Brinella opened an eye and growled, burying her face in the dirt for a moment before realization hit and she hacked and coughed her airways clean. The smell of the sea assaulted her senses, and she clawed her face clean and opened her eyes again to peer around. The port town of Theramore was quiet, too much so. The sun shined brightly down on her, nearly blanching the surroundings. The sound of the tide washing in and out was, to her hearing, just a little bit off. There was no ambiance; no birds singing, no people walking, no people talking. The druid shielded her eyes and stood.

"Which of you have thought about how you will die?"

The docks were behind her, and she turned to try and catch the speaker. The words rang hollow in her mind, devoid of the laughter and mirth she had originally heard them spoken with. Yes, she knew those words. Her eyes went to the floor, and flashes of images painted themselves over the ground. People were sitting around the fountain, they were laughing and talking, listening eagerly to the woman who spoke. Yet none of the images remained for longer than it took her to blink them away.

"... you feel nothing?"

She turned from the fountain and it's blinking scenes, her eyes going out to the docks again. There were no boats moored, and even the lighthouse had vanished. People seemed to have ceased to exist, turning the lively port into a ghost town. But there was one; she blinked and he was there, and without even understanding why, she started to move towards him. His name formed itself on her lips, but she found herself afraid to speak it, afraid to blink and watch him disappear.

"I hate this swamp."

He looked at her over his shoulder, pale skin slightly burned by time outside that he had yet to become used to. His green eyes searched her face, and she felt herself smile. Yes, he had said that. This was how it went. Her mouth moved, forming the words she had spoken another day, another time.

"I like to fly. When I'm high up, I let the form go. Just before I hit the water, I change again."

His lips did not turn in a smile, and her ears flicked back. He hadn't found that confession funny then, either. Her eyes went to her hands, and she realized they were clawed. Something about that rang false, something about it tugged at her and screamed that there was a lie within, but she couldn't place it. The docks vanished, and she found herself abruptly placed at the very edge of a branch she had fallen from long ago.

"You like to play with fate?"

_'This isn't how it goes!'_ Her mind screamed as she felt his hands grip her shoulders, felt his thumbs dig into her skin, felt claws appear and slice into the skin there. Brinella screamed, and the man laughed and pushed her from the branch. Frantically, she flapped her arms and spread her body, willing the change that would not come. Her body fell through endlessness, and she spied the bottom at last. Not the sea, but hard rock. Her eyes closed. _'This isn't real! It's not real!'_

She jerked, uttering an oath as the back of her head made contact with something hard. Tears sprang into her eyes as she fought to catch her breath, feeling as though she had just run a marathon. Beneath the fear that washed over her in the aftermath of her nightmare, there was the feeling of complete loneliness. Clawed paws pressed at the wounded skin of her head while she curled up, the softest of whimpers leaving her.

They _never_ stopped. Eaxoa had helped her, but no amount of help could erase the nightmares that plagued her. While she struggled to remember exactly what had frightened her so bad, she was dimly aware that she had somehow made it beneath her bed. Not the first time, and certainly not the most odd place for her to end up, but disorienting all the same. The druid untangled herself and scooted out from beneath the bed, and gathered up the fallen blankets without caring why they had ended up bunched near the door.

She slowly made the bed, tucking the edges down as they had been. Her hands swept over the spot where the gnome had sat the night before, and suddenly she lost her train of thought. Her eyes went to the window, and she sighed. Truthfully, she had never told the gnome that she would help at all, but there was no harm in actually getting a few words in. Brinella dressed, struggling only a bit with the lacing on her pants. The gnome had spoken of others. Maybe they would have more to tell her.

With the room cleaned, the druid grabbed the modified knife that the gnome had fashioned for her and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Her claws clicked on the wood as she walked, and the barmaid that served during the mornings smiled brightly as she came down the stairs.

"Mornin', Wolf. That gnome ever get to you last night? Came in with a group and wanted to find help as fast as possible." The girl's dusky cheeks flushed. "I hope that was alright. They really were desperate."

Brinella nodded once, dropping a few of her hard earned coins on the counter as she spoke. "I spoke to the gnome, yes. The others she came in with, are they around?"

Michette seemed to think about it for a few moments. "It's a weird group, to be honest." The worgen's look spurred her on, and she leaned on the bar to drop her voice. "Things have been awful quiet since the war ended. Up here, we don't have to deal with anything that happened when Deathwing came tearin' up. Honest, most of the boys made their way back home once there was no more valor to be found up here. Sure, we get the few who like to attend the tournament and visit the floatin' citadel, but no one really special. These ones, though? I don't know. We don't get many like them around. Only four of them came in, but I think another one may have stayed outside."

"In this weather?" Brinella pursed her lips, which looked something more like a snarl. "I could barely see outside my window this morning, someone staying out there all night is a death sentence."

"I know." Michette held up her hands in a helpless gesture. "I didn't say I agreed with it, and I don't think they were very happy about it either. Anyway, you'll want the back room. There may only be a few of them, but they're pretty much loaded. Rented the entire back room for themselves, and the three biggest rooms to sleep in." The maid pointed the way, her eyes turning to the door as the night shift swept through the door.

The druid watched the maid work for a few moments, then shrugged and made her way to the back. Aside from the soldiers just coming in from their long shift, there was no one else in the tavern. It was far too early for the people to be up and wandering around, and Brinella had found that people were likely to remain safe in their beds until the mists and snow had stopped. It reminded her briefly of home, and she stifled the pang of homesickness by opening the door to the back room.

There was, truly, very little difference between the front half of the tavern and the back half that she now entered. It had been built on after the war in Northrend had reached it's climax, meant to hold the seemingly endless number of troops rolling in to fight in the final battle against Arthas, but now it stood empty, used only when nobility or well-off travelers desired something quiet to themselves. There were some who thought the room to be pointless, but it had allowed the tavern to add more rooms, and those were, at least, commonly used.

The room was sparsely decorated when it came to furniture. Brinella knew that there were tables that could be moved into the room if needed, but three tables were permanently sealed to the floor in the room itself. Each held four chairs that could be moved, and several had been set against the wall. On the walls were large tapestries, one depicting the expanses of the frozen north, while others on the flanking walls showed tales of times long gone. The floor was decorated with thick furs, the heads of the beasts they had come from mounted on the walls in typical hunter fashion.

The most prominent decoration was the massive fireplace against the far wall. It was there that Brinella spotted what she assumed was one of the unknown party, and she closed the door quietly behind her before stepping closer to the fire. A warning growl from a darker corner of the room made her pause.

"She's harmless." The voice was deep, enough to mark the figure as a male even if the broad shoulders hidden beneath a thick cloak didn't. He sat with his back to her, one foot propped up on a chair while he half sat on the table closest to the fire. A tray of cheese and meat was on the wood behind him, an open bottle of mead muddying her senses for a brief moment. Her eyes focused instead on the corner, and the darkness faded a bit. Two deep green eyes peered back at her, a broad muzzle curling just so.

"Well, normally she's harmless." The man moved, and the eyes left the druid and turned to him. The warning growl faded and became a series of odd chirrups and whines before finally falling silent. "You smell odd. It upsets her." He turned, and Brinella froze like a deer before headlights, a lump forming in her throat. His eyes were a strange golden brown, and held a light that made them seem almost bestial in the low light. Dark hair was let free around his features, rugged and befitting someone who stayed outside, and he sported a slight beard that suited his overall look.

"Worgen. That'd do it. Bestryx isn't real fond of your kind, but I'm alright if you are." His smile was warm, and he gestured to the chair beside his own. "Care to sit? You look like you've seen a ghost, and could use a little time off your feet."

Rendered mute, Brinella slipped to the offered chair, breaking her gaze from him to focus on the fire. Her claws pierced her palms; her own little way of trying to clear her head. They sat for a time in silence, both watching the flickering flames of the fire, but it wasn't long at all before the door opened behind them, and the room rang with sound.

"Oh! Hello! You came! I'm so glad. How's that knife doing for you? You have the knife, right. I built that just for you. Dream emerald and jade handle, you won't find anything like it anywhere! Yairek has one too, but his is red. Like blood. Blood crystal and star ruby handle for him! Oh, and Jordan has a purple one and -"

"It's too early for this, Kika. Shut up."

" - but I told them that I couldn't sell them, because that wouldn't make it fun for me anymore and – Hey! Yairek started eating without us. Or did you even go to sleep? Aw, come on! Maybe you spent all night with Bear-Wolf? That would be awesome, wouldn't it. Procreation could happen, right? But all that fur would be a bit of a hazard. Might get in your mouth and -"

"Kika, please, for the love of Velen -"

" - they'd have puppies! Puppies, right? A whole litter of them! We could sell them, and then they'd grow up to be the best elf-puppy-bear-wolves ever! I think you two should start right now, we'll leave you alone. Just tell us when you're – eep!"

It was hard to tell what silenced the gnome. At the mention of puppies, Brinella's features had become quite feral, her lip curled and ears flat against her head. While Kika may not have noticed the change in her rapid-fire speaking, but her companions certainly did. The hunter that sat beside her had his palm firmly planted over his face, and his head shook slowly. Behind them, Kika rubbed her head while she dangled in the air.

"Put me down, Jordan! This isn't fair! They'd make great pu – erk!" The gnome was stifled, and Brinella slowly calmed herself enough to peer behind at the gnome. Jordan swayed the gnome a bit, keeping her quiet by seemingly keeping her on the border between perfect health and nauseous. The draenei was just a bit taller than Brinella herself, an additional foot of height over that granted by her horns, which reminded Brinella of a rabbit. Her armor was a mixture of plate and mail, meant for mobility rather than defense. Contrasting heavily with the dark skin and armor, her hair was a snowy, downy white.

Beside her was a young male of the same race. Brinella knew that they were very long-lived, but this one seemed to be young even by the average standards. He had not quite come into the build of most males of his kind. Had she not seen him from the front, it would have been hard to tell the difference between him and a female. He was slender, and dressed in the robes of a healer. Once in a while, he would prod the gnome, sending her rocking and scrabbling for purchase in the female's grasp.

"Put her down, Jordan." The male beside her spoke, and she was certain that she sensed the tell-tale signs of someone trying desperately not to laugh in the depths of his calm voice. "Kika, you must learn to keep yourself quiet, or Jordan will continue to pick on you."

"It's not my fault! I'm just so small, and fragile. Like a puppy!" The gnome brightened considerably for a fraction of a moment, and then squealed as she was dropped. With a thunk, she hit the floor and groaned, unmoving.

"Do not be concerned." The male was watching her, his blue eyes glimmering with mirth. "Kika and my mother get along well, and there's really no harm being done. Kika just... requires a little bit more handling than the average person." His hooves clicked on the floor as he approached, and held out his hand in a very human gesture that confused her. "I am Yairek."

Brinella stared dumbly at the hand, her mind having gone completely blank at the simple gesture. When he seemed intent on getting the handshake, she extended her own hand, careful not to nick his pale skin with her claws. Instead of being frightened, the man brightened considerably and looked her hand over, turning it over in his own soft ones.

"Interesting, interesting! These are perfect for tearing, quite different from the wolves your kind see -" He glanced up as she twitched and tried to draw away, and he released her with an apologetic look. "I am sorry, friend. I am a scholar, not a fighter as my mother is. All things are something to be discovered and learned. I did not mean to offend."

There was silence for a long time, and the hunter cleared his throat to chase away the tension. "I suspect that she is not used to people who are simply accepting." He grinned as the worgen shifted in her seat, her eyes downcast. "It's hard to accept the praise of others, when you cannot accept the truth for yourself."

"You speak wisely, woodsman."

The door closed behind another figure, and Brinella found herself calmed. The creature was short, bear-like in features, but walked with a steady human gait. Around it's neck and hips were fetishes and trinkets, and it was dressed in nothing more than a simple loincloth. The furbolg sidled up to the table, and peered up at the worgen.

"I am Gnarlpaw, of the Timbermaw. You are -"

"Bear-Wolf!" Kika appeared without preamble atop the table, and Brinella flinched, nearly falling out of her chair. "She's Bear-Wolf, the mighty one who will help us! She said so, last night. While you were all sleeping, I went and did something! I got us someone good. Yes, yes I did!" The gnome planted her fists on her hips, looking at them all as if expecting them to doubt her. After a moment, Jordan spoke.

"No, you did not."

"Yes, I did!" Kika pouted and nodded so briskly that her goggles fell, skewed, over her eyes.

"No. You talked to her, yes. You did not ask her."

Kika opened her mouth to speak, and then clamped it shut again. For a moment, it was clear she was thinking very hard about the conversation the night before. "I was invited in, I fixed her knife, I... oh. I guess I didn't..." She shuffled her foot on the table, looking quite guilty indeed.

As one, the group groaned. Only the hunter did not begin to chastise the gnome, a smile on his lips as he turned back to the fire and warmed his hands. Brinella watched them for a few moments, and for a few moments, felt quite lonely. For a few moments, as she watched Kika scamper nimbly over the tabletop to avoid Jordan's grasp, Gnarlpaw shake his head, and Yairek laugh, Brinella had the deep desire to hear the voices of those she knew. For once in a very long time, she was homesick.

"I don't mind." Brinella spoke before she could think, shying slightly away from their eyes as they stopped to look at her. "Helping people is what I do, so if you need help... then I really don't mind. I just need to know details, is all."

"Yay! See? I told you I did good. You all didn't believe me, but I found the best Bear-Wolf there can ever be, yup-yup! Put me down!" Tiny fists clanked on Jordan's armor, and the woman rolled her eyes and dropped the gnome with a thunk upon the table. Kika rolled, and rubbed her head while she spoke. "Yairek says there's an artifact of great power," she wriggled her fingers, "hidden away in one of the caves to the north – Ow! Would you stop hitting me! I was talking!"

"It is wiser to let Yairek speak, Kika." Jordan flicked the gnome again, and turned her eyes to her son. "Go ahead, cherished one."

The other draenei flushed, but pulled himself up as much as he could to look important. "I was one of the last to be found when the Exodar crashed. My pod was flung far from the site, and was submerged under several feet of water. Somehow, I still remained in the stasis that the pod offered, but as the months dwindled by, the systems were shutting down. Very near to the end, I was found by a human woman who rescued me, and helped care for me.

"Her name was Ellie, and she was a good woman who served the Light as a traveling healer. Finding me was a stroke of fortune, as her health was failing her, and I could help her move around as was needed. To some, I looked like a beast of burden. To her... I was a precious gift, and she took very good care of me. I am not ashamed to admit that I began to feel affection for her as a man feels affection for a woman. Her vows prevented her from accepting me, I knew... but when it came time for us to part, I stayed with her.

"I had no home, and I was not yet ready to return to my people. I was afraid that they would judge me for being what was little more than a servant, and I was terrified to become one of those who had lost everything. With Ellie- with her," Yairek paused for a moment, and took a steadying breath before he continued, "I felt as though all was going to be alright. When she was called to aid the Offensive against the Legion, I went with her.

"In the fighting, she was struck down. For days, I stayed beside her as healers tended to a wound that seemed to not want to close. I realized then just how weak my friend had become, but all she would do was speak to me of the beauty of the world she had traveled. While she seemed eager to meet the end, I- I was not ready to let her go. I know that I would have had to face that one day, but I wanted it to be when she was old and grey, not- not then.

"I took her place on the front lines. I was little more than a neophyte in the ways of the Light. I had chosen my path long before coming to Azeroth, but it had been one of the arcane. Under her hand, I learned, and I was loathe to let her learning go to waste. My battalion forced their way through the to the Sunwell, and it was there that I was reunited with my mother." He paused for a moment, turning an adoring smile on the darker woman, who bowed her head in a humble gesture.

"Together, though we knew not what we were looking for, we stood by countless others as they fell against the Legion. Battered and broken, we lay M'uru and it's void lord incarnation to rest. Among the many things there, I was gifted a small, glimmering sliver of the once mighty Naaru. Though it flickered just barely, I felt as though it was the answer. All that I had toiled for, I had found it. I fell in combat later, against Kil'jaeden... but others succeeded. I know not what happened, but when I woke later in the recovery tents, I felt the sliver pulsing in my grasp."

"He refused to let go of it." Jordan chuckled softly, and shook her head. "We thought for certain that he had wounded his hand, but he had not. We knew he had awoken when he finally opened his hand, and we didn't get him back into bed after that."

Yairek laughed. "No, no they didn't. I brought the sliver to Ellie after I fashioned a necklace to keep it close to her. In days, she seemed to come back to life, was so much stronger than she had been before! She began to chase life again, like a pup among her pack. In weeks..." Yairek gripped his staff, and Kika scooted closer to wrap her small arms around one of his own. Her own voice was muffled against his clothes, but Brinella heard well enough.

"Ellie fell in love." The gnome peered at the worgen, her hand steadily patting her friend's arm. "Someone who had cared for her while Yairek was fighting. He was human, so was Ellie. It made sense... but it didn't mean that it didn't hurt. This is right about when I met Yairek. He was on the beach, and I was fiddling with something or another. It exploded, and he tended my burns. He started crying-" She fliched under Jordan's glare, but continued, "well he _did_, and he had every right to! I was there the night we knew it was something in the past. Ellie and her lover had snuck out of the camp and-"

"I left the next day. With Kil'jaeden banished, it seemed to be the best thing. I left her a letter, never telling her truthfully how I felt. It was hard to accept that she ever cared for me as anything other than a pack mule, and I admit that hate and rage filled my heart for a long time after that, but Kika was a stalwart companion."

"I didn't have a home, I didn't have many friends- I think they blew up-, so I didn't mind tagging along with him. He let me, though Jordan wasn't pleased." Kika leaned over, speaking out of the corner of her mouth, "I think she likes me now, though. Like... _really_ likes."

"The war here in the north is what brought us all together, in the end." The hunter broke in, his rich voice quiet. "Ellie was my sister, and we kept in touch long after she and Yairek parted ways. I met the man who would later leave her for another woman, and Ellie began to regret what she had accidentally done. When the call to arms sounded, she was one of the first to answer it. Combat was her way of forgetting, but I had a feeling that she was hoping to find Yairek on the battlefield.

"She was the first to answer, and unfortunately, she was one of the first to fall. Her body was never recovered, but I received her things when the soldiers made the rounds. In them, I found countless letters that had been started, some were even finished, but never sent. They spoke of apologies, of understanding, of regret... and deep beneath the front my sister liked to put up, of love. She spoke often about the crystal that Yairek had given her, but I never found it in the belongings that were returned to me. I thought it lost. So many of these letters were there, I decided to seek out the one that they had been addressed to."

"I had not gone north with the others. I chose instead to stay and learn about the world that we had landed on. I learned many languages, experienced many traditions, ran from many things that were usually Kika's doing, but there was a day where I thought I heard a scream that contained my name. A voice I had not heard in so long, that the anger I had finally let go threatened to overwhelm me again. A few weeks later, I woke to Perin knocking on my door.

"He gave me all of Ellie's belongings, and I spent days reading everything. I knew why he had come, though he had not told me. At the end of it all, I was thankful. He had given me the closure that I had deeply desired. I felt no ill-will, nor bitterness. Yet... I began to sleep uneasily. A dream, where I was locked in a dark room, and I could hear soft sobbing, begging."

Perin nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. "I started to have the dream as well. I'm not big on magic or religion, it's part of the reason Ellie and I did not live together, but our mother had been prone to visions of the future. They bothered her so deeply that she set out to find members of the Bronze Dragonflight, and we never saw her again. Sometimes, I can understand her fear." The hunter waved a hand. "Regardless, we all began to see the same thing, despite that we did not speak to each other about it. Jordan broke the silence, and we decided that this was something that could not be ignored.

"I found the soldier that had brought Ellie's things to me, and was able to find where she had died. We hope that answers are there, but the closer we have gotten, the worse the dreams have gotten. What was once whispers, are now screams in the dark. We need someone who knows these wastes, and has a thick skin to defend us if it comes to it."

"That is where I come in." Brinella mused aloud. Her long claws tapped a steady rhythm on the tabletop while she considered the story. She knew about the Naaru, and the Sunwell, what little bits Eaxoa had explained in times of silence. There was no reason for them to lie, and honestly... no reason for her to deny them the help they desired. "I'll do it. For... Ellie."

"Yippee!" Kika cheered, and promptly fell off the table, much to the laughter of the others. As the others spoke to each other and planned, Gnarlpaw slipped up beside her, and spoke.

"Only one who knows the power of dreams would understand the need for closure." The furbolg patted her arm, managed what looked like a grin, and tottered off to observe the map that hung on the far wall. Brinella watched him for a moment before she smiled and shrugged.


	41. Chapter Forty: Damned

"Walk, you said! It's good for us, you said!" Kika sputtered as Jordan plucked her out of the snow for the third time since they had left their horses behind, and she grumbled even though the woman allowed her to perch on one of her pauldrons. "I'm cold, and wet, and I think I lost some of my tools in that last pool. Yairek!" The gnome whined, and Brinella increased her pace to escape the high pitched sound while they fussed with the smallest of their companions. Ahead of her, the snow fell away from the massive cliffs of northern Dragonblight, their shadows spilling over the ocean of white that she and her companions now struggled through.

"It's a little intimidating, isn't it?" Her tail flicked, and she nodded once before she looked back at the group. Perin came to stand beside her, moving his feet to tamp down the snow in an effort to make a path for the others to follow. His hand reached out, stroking the tip of one of her rounded ears, and she released a low growl that he merely chuckled at. "Ellie vanished somewhere near here. I know you say that you do this for her, but I don't know what to expect. Thank you, regardless. Do you have family?"

Her silence was all that he had until she shifted, slender feline becoming rippling muscle as the worgen rolled her shoulders and stood straight. "My brother still lives, I feel. No one else." She lifted her muzzle catching scents on the air that made her fur stand on end. Perin nodded, seeming to share her dislike.

"The cleansing goes slowly. I don't think that we will ever truly be rid of the undead, not as long as there is evil in the world." His hand scratched at the muzzle of his feline, though his attention was caught as the others finally stumbled closer. Kika grumbled something under her breath while Yairek carried her in one arm, his staff balancing himself as they moved.

"Remind again why we leave horses behind?"

"They aren't goats, Jordan. There's no way we can get them up to where we need to go." Perin smirked as the disgruntled woman moved past them, her very weight making her sink into the snow. Yet, as they progressed nearer and nearer to the mountains, the snow thinned to become ice and rock that tore into Yairek's robes if they did not pay attention. Eventually, the ground became so treacherous that they had no choice but to rely on Brinella herself, who took to the air to find the best way to continue.

It seemed hours before they hit flat ground again, all of them tumbling into the opening of a cave several hundred feet above the ground that they had started on. Within moments, a careful fire was started and the chilly companions huddled around it for warmth while Brinella scouted ahead. When she returned, the snow was coming down harder, and they had a warm blanket ready for her when she sat down.

"The snow will make it hard to travel." Kika began to whine again, rubbing her tiny toes with equally tiny fingers.

"We will not need to walk outside again." Gnarlpaw rumbled the words from where he sat, prodding the ground with his gnarled staff. "The mountain is angry. Many died here. Many remain."

"How do you expect us to sleep, with you going on like that!" Kika tossed her boot at him, gaining laughs from the others while she squirmed closer to Yairek and pulled her own blanket over her. The male draenei chuckled, pulling his fingers through her candy-colored hair until her breathing became even and quiet. For a few long moments, there was no sound but the crackle of the fire and her even breathing.

Brinella, weary of the waiting game, stood once more and padded around the cave that they sat in. Something felt odd to her, something that she couldn't explain. The feeling of being watched, of a hundred eyes peering at her, and nameless breath tickling the tips of her ears. Walking did not help, but she found herself peering into the cracks and crevices that she found, until one proved fruitful. Perin and Jordan joined her as she pulled rocks from a crevice, and it was not long that they opened a larger crack that each of them could slide through.

"Cold back here," Jordan remarked. "Dark, too. Too dark for the night. Eerie, too. I do not like it." Her eyes flicked to the glass-like walls, and she shuddered. "Makes me see things that are not there."

Perin nodded while taking in the chasm that they were perched on the edge of, going so far as to take a piece of stone and toss it over. Despite their fears, the sound of bottom was not too far off. "You won't be able to wing it through here, Dreamer." He used the nickname offhandedly, as if Gnarlpaw had simply beaten it into him. Brinella merely shrugged. "Bottom doesn't seem to be too far off, but those jagged bits up there? I bet a good yell would bring them down. No, you'll have to walk with us."

"There is room, if we move like this." Jordan scooted along the wall, the slope taking her gently down a few feet. "The shaman may have issue, it is small ledge, and he have big feet."

"We'll figure something out." The man backed from the ledge, his eyes not leaving the eerie scene even as he moved back through the way they had come. Brinella followed, with Jordan slipping through not even a moment later. They did not have to speak to know that each felt uneasy in their own ways, though none made any notice of it to the others. No words, no glances, just the silence of understanding.

Sleep came to the others quickly. Travel had been hard, and Kika was the only one who stirred against Yairek's side. Brinella tended to the fire while they rested, not wishing to join their nightmares. She did not know how she knew that they slept uneasily; each breathed deep and even, making no sound that might have foretold of such things, but she knew it all the same. Felt it, as if it were in her blood as well as their minds.

"Amusing, that sleep comes so uneasily to the Dreamer." Gnarlpaw spoke only once, his eyes drifting closed again while he leaned against the icy wall. She did not bother to ask what he meant when he said what he did, knowing that he could feel her the same way that Eaxoa could, and for the same reason. Her eyes watched him for a time, before they closed, and she drifted in fitful slumber.

Morning came with grumbling from all of them, and it was not long until they were ready to go. The narrow passage they had cleared proved to be some trouble for Gnarlpaw, but with much laughter and gentle tugging, they were able to get the shaman through and onto the ledge, where they all peered around with frowns and groans. Brinella took the lead, her claws digging into the sheer ice that touched her back. Twice, they were forced to stop when the icy stone became too slick for the hooves of the draenei, and all of them worked to score the ground as best they could, though it was her own claws that worked the best. Jordan took the worgen's belongings while she crouched and scratched her way down the ledge.

What seemed like hours later, they touched the bottom of the narrow ramp. None were so happy as Kika, who promptly let out a whoop of joy that sent several stalactites crashing down around them. "I think it best to stay quiet," Jordan pointed out after the sounds had died, "and watch all that you can."

"I don't like this place, Yairek." Kika tugged the priest's sleeve, her wide eyes taking in the shattered pieces of ice not far from them. "It feels wrong. Like I'll never be happy again. Or warm."

"There is unease here," Gnarlpaw added, crouching down and running a paw over the cold earth. "Darkness has long fallen on this place, and there is no hope left. Something draws evil this way, something powerful. Yairek..."

"I know." The draenei moved forward, and Brinella caught the look of pain on Kika's face as the man moved away. His staff touched the ground in several places before he slammed it into the ice, pieces spinning off and slicing against Brinella's fur. She barely noticed, her eyes trapped on the gem that topped the simple staff. It glittered, the orb-shaped stone seeming to spin madly with an inner light, and where the light touched...

"By Goldrinn's fang..." Perin's eyes were fastened behind them, and the others looked, and were met with a sight that horrified them all. Jordan hissed softly, taking a step back from the ice wall, where the light illuminated a hateful spectre frozen in time, it's eyes boring into her as if she had brought about the creatures rising. There were more, all appearing and then vanishing as quickly as the light winked out light a spotlight. Some were small at first, and every pass of the light showed them getting closer, anger and hate clear on their features every passing second.

The light faded, the staff tilting and falling back into Yairek's open palm. There was silence for a long moment, each of them afraid to look away from the walls and ceiling, uncertain if the apparitions were truly trapped, or if a single glance away would bring them falling upon them like a swarm of locusts. Kika sniffled, her terror clear in the way she tried to back against anyone who would let her. Her whimpers became louder until they were finally stifled against Gnarlpaw's stomach.

"Anyone else alright with getting out of this hell pit?" Perin's voice was quiet, but Brinella heard the fear therein. Her nose flared, muzzle lifting as something new came to her senses. Her eyes narrowed, ears twitching before perking straight up. The conversation, as whispered as it was, began to die around her as she focused on that scent. Images filled her mind, bringing with them the feelings of disgust; of worms churning through blood-stained earth, of rotting bodies. Her growl sounded, silencing the others. Without realizing it, all of her senses strained towards aggression, and Perin noticed it first.

They were watching her, she felt it in the back of her mind. They were waiting for her, waiting for the pack leader to take flight. Brinella growled again, and the sound left her through a snarling visage as she bared her teeth. Her eyes were not focused on them; there was another tunnel, she was sure of it. Several of them, if the instincts that she held to were reliable. She knew that they were. Beside her, she felt the furbolg pad up, his eyes watching the area as eagerly as she did. They were watching her...

… but so was something else.

She would have missed it if she was anyone else. Had her focus been anywhere else but where it was, she would have mistaken the lurking thing for just a shadow, a trick being played on her mind. When the shadow moved, so did she. It lunged, and she met it with claws outstretched and fangs bared. Together, they hit ground in a tumble, and with a ghastly screech, Brinella was the victor. Relief was momentary, sanity pushing back on her as she backed away from the corpse of a corpse, her breathing rapid and mouth full of rotting flesh.

They were not alone. Kika shrieked in pain as more fell from the shadows, grabbing her hair and throwing her as if she were a tiny missile in their efforts to get to the others. Jordan's sword raised, a flash of golden light spiraling around the blade as the woman fought off their shadowed attackers with one hand. Brinella grunted as Kika landed against her, curling arms protectively around the gnome before she dropped to all fours, laying the gnome beneath her as her form shifted.

The change was never painless. In the months she had taken to become one with her forms, she had learned to channel the pain of bones shifting and skin stretching into something else; rage. Rage befit the form she took now, and slender limbs bulked and agility and speed gave way to size and strength. Pointed ears rounded, her muzzle shortened, her fur thickened into a coat that could rival even the strongest of armor. Brinella roared, and the very walls shook with her will, the shadows turning their attention towards her with leering grins.

Brinella felt Kika move from under her, but couldn't see her. All she knew was that the gnome was not in the way of her paw when it came up to drop an approaching shadow. The thing squealed, a nauseating squish heard as her paw collapsed it's skull. She moved forward, jaws closing on limbs, claws raking, her bulk forcing everyone to move towards what she believed would be sanctuary. Behind her, a line of dead began to form, leaking ichor as their cries resonated in the chamber. As the last was peeled from her, Jordan throwing the halved ghoul aside, Brinella spotted little Kika scurrying in just before her bulk filled the tunnel.

"Geists? Ghouls? What in Light were those?" Yairek ran a hand over his face, hissing in pain as his fingers smeared his blood over the gash on his cheek. Jordan moved forward, running a glowing hand over his wound. "They have a nasty bite, that's all I care to know. Anyone else get scratched hard enough to draw blood?" There was shuffling as each accepted Jordan's cleaning touch, and Brinella began to smell the sweat of the paladin's effort.

Kika was next to speak, piping up from further in the tunnel. The others moved towards her, shuffling through tunnels that made the druid grunt as hard ice scraped at her pelt, reaching skin and scratching painfully. Still, she refused to drop the form, uncertain if it would be what ended them at a bad moment. It seemed like hours before she realized they had been talking, and she had been simply following along.

"I feel like I can't breathe," the gnome complained as she stepped down another tunnel. "You don't think I'm one of those people who hates tight places, do you?"

"No. I've found you in Jordan's bags more than enough times, and you've been fine."

"Perin, there's tighter things of Jordan's that I could – ow! Can't you keep your hands to yourself?"

"Once you learn to mind your mouth," the woman growled. "Go left, I feel something familiar."

"Familiar, mother? This is a land of death and pain. Of course you would be familiar to such things." There was a pause, so tense that Brinella wished to reach out and slap them with her paw before Yairek was speaking again. "No, you are right. I feel it as well. There is warmth nearby. Hope."

"Hope? Yairek, I think you've been sniffing a little too much of your – ow! Jordan, stop hitting me!" Kika grumbled as the draenei pushed ahead, leaving her behind to pout beside Perin. "Yeesh. I'd forgotten how hard she could hit when she felt the need to do so."

"You do make it just a little too easy for her, Kika. Oof, don't mind us here, Brinella." The hunter joked as the worgen moved her bulk past them, but his laugh quieted as she growled. His hand lifted and fell on her flank, felt her tense there and knew that she could see something they could not. "What is it?"

Brinella uttered another growl before following after the other two, pushing violently against the walls of the tunnel as they narrowed around her shoulders. The ice gave, the tunnel becoming easier for her to slip through into another cavern. Her eyes scoured the mirror-like ice around her, looking for the faces that she swore she could still feel watching her. Yet there was none, simply an ethereal light that glittered off the stalactites and walls, sending rainbow veins along the snowy floor.

But it was not the walls that drew her attention past a few cursory glances. It was what lay in the center of the room; an obelisk of ice twice her height if she stood on her hind legs, thick and uncut around the base. Near the top, the icy monument joined with runoff from the ceiling, giving a rippling effect forever frozen in time. Despite the cold, Brinella realized that the air was warm even through her fur, and a sense of peace settled over her that she fought to resist.

"Ellie," someone breathed the name beside her, and she turned her broad head to find Perin staring in rapt attention at the pillar before them. "Light bless us, it's Ellie!"

The worgen frowned as best a bear could, her eyes focusing on the ice as she lumbered forward. It was only once she was but a few feet away that she saw what Perin did; a young woman stood suspended in the ice, her chin lifted and her expression serene. It was as if she had been caught floating in water, her blonde hair frozen in a cloud around her face, her tattered robes baring her ankles and bare feet as if the tide had pulled the skirt up just a bit. Her hands were cupped beneath her breasts, and something shimmered in her grasp. She could see the similarity in features between the frozen woman and Perin, but the nagging feeling would not leave her.

"No wonder she was never found. All the way in this cesspit." His voice was tender as he moved forward, a hand placed on the glass-like ice. Yairek moved beside him, and Brinella could smell the tang of salt. Tears, she knew and could understand.

"She never let go of that shard." There was weak laughter between the two, shared pain, before silence seemed to fall for moments unending. "How did she get down here? How was she forgotten, all the way down here?"

Gnarlpaw grunted beside her, and Brinella found herself looking away from the woman to the room itself again. The furbolg shuffled forward, peering through the ice at the shard, which glittered with ethereal light. The shaman was quiet for a while before lifted a paw, placing it firmly against the ice. Without warning, he dragged claws down across the surface, and all who were present were frozen at the sound that came, an unholy cacophony that had nothing to do with nails on ice.

The walls breathed and churned, the rainbows of color gone and replaced with something darker. The warmth was gone, Brinella's breath freezing before her eyes as the others backed away from the obelisk, where the claw marks had slip and cracked, sending out veins that shattered the peaceful serenity of the image before them. A wailing started, sharp in their ears until it was nearly a scream.

"What have you done?" Yairek shouted over the rising noise, his hands clapped over his ears, nearly doubled over in pain. He was not the only one, each of them in various stages of agony brought on only by the sound. None of them seemed to notice it was getting dark, the flickering purple hues of the shard in Ellie's hand limning the ice as it fell away from her body. The sounds died as the the last chunk of ice hit the floor, leaving nothing more than the newly formed gloom and the ringing in their ears.

Brinella felt something touch her side, and tensed. Perin's voice calmed her, and she was soon flanked by the rest of the group as they moved towards each other in an effort to find warmth. Kika ducked beneath Brinella's bulk and watched while the others debated quietly. It was Kika who drew Brinella's attention back to where Ellie had been trapped, a simple pat on her paw drawing her eyes along the shadow that was the gnome until her gaze swept to where something moved in the gloom.

The something moved, a glittering trail of purple and black shadows that swept up from the floor, acting like a lantern behind trees as more shadows fell on the glimmer, drowning it in darkness. Brinella growled, already hunching in preparation for something to strike, but nothing would prepare her for the blow that came.

She hit the wall with a crash, the cavern shuddering with the blow. Screams came, sounds of fright as glass shattered and sent out missiles that shredded through cloth and skin with ease. As air refilled her ursine lungs, the worgen thought she saw the flash of tell-tale magic, but it was behind a figure that could have haunted her only from a nightmare – or so she thought. Bloody eyesockets watched her, a leering grin revealing decaying teeth even in the gloom. White-blonde hair hung in clumps around a face that was drawn taut over a skeleton.

With a roar, Brinella rolled her bulk and heard the satisfying crunch of flimsy bone. Silence, and dark, fell again. Vaguely, she heard the sniffles of fear from Kika, the hiss of pain as those who had been thrown like herself found themselves able to move, though slowly. Sore, the worgen lumbered into the middle of the room, her paws crushing the ice that had formed Ellie's tomb, but she felt no body. No flesh, not even frozen.

What she did feel, was the lance of pain along her flank as something struck. The silence was pierced with a grunt of pain, of more motion than there had been before. Brinella whirled with a roar, catching sight of her earlier attacker, broken arm jabbed into her hindquarters while the teeth of the thing chewed at her pelt. She sat, watching the thing flop for a bit before she rolled again, pinning it beneath her weight. Her eyes rolled as the pain continued, fire consuming her back leg. She kicked and squirmed, finally hurling the wailing thing away into a wall. It vanished in a swirl of shadow, leaving only the cackling behind.

"I can't see anything," Perin grunted his words from between his teeth, pain slicing through each syllable. "We're not going to get anywhere like this. We need light. Kika!"

"I-I have something! Just give me a moment to find it!"

"We don't have moment, gnome!" Jordan's sword was a brilliant slash in the gloom, revealing that there was no longer one attacker. The walls writhed, and all knew that what was coming for them was something that would not die until they were gone. "Find it now. Find anything now!"

"Just... just one moment!" Kika sobbed the words, her playful composure broken. Another flash of golden light, and Brinella barely made out the slumped figure of Yairek against a wall, his hair wet with blood. Blood that coated Kika's trembling hands and pooled around his unmoving form. "I c-can't find it. Jordan, I can't find it!" Her voice broke into a scream of pain as a ghoul dropped atop her, her bag spilling over and an assortment of items scattering over the floor. The twang of a bow sounded, and the ghoul flew back and was still.

Brinella kicked something in her effort to move, and she thought she heard the sound of triumph from the gnome before everything vanished into searing pain. Her roar echoed in the cavern, tearing the ceiling down around their ears. The world was white fire, and then it was nothing but sound. Screams; of pain and of fear. The worgen did not know where one ended and the next began, and so she swiped at any noise that she could.

Paws connected with skin and bone, the smell of blood and ichor choking her as she slammed blindly into walls, her bulk hurtling forward through empty air and gleefully tearing down anything that stayed in her path. There was no longer sense, no more reason. The bear had taken over, all of its instincts on full alert, and there was nothing but threats left in the cavern. Unable to tell dark from gloom, Brinella followed the sounds of breathing and of chittering, barely noticing as those who were her friends now became her enemies despite their cries around her.

"Jordan, stop her!"

"Cannot! I would kill her!"

"She must be brought down... woodsman," Gnarlpaw's voice was weak and labored, but he spoke as firmly as he could through pain.

"My arm is broken. You expect me to bring her down with a knife?"

"A knife? Hang on, I've got it!"

Brinella roared again, her jaws closing on the last that she could reach. Broken bone lanced into her gums, crunching beneath the power she held in her jaws. Her prey screamed, clawing at her muzzle and biting at her ears, and she slammed a paw into the unknown assailant until she felt something else crack. Like glass in her mouth, something cracked and shattered, turning quickly to sand as she gnashed and tore.

"I'm sorry, bear-wolf."

She didn't even feel the weight of the gnome on her shoulders, barely registered her presence at all as she waited for the thing beneath her to stop screaming.

"I'm really, really sorry." Perin shouted something beyond her hearing, and Kika sobbed once. Pain shattered Brinella's thought, and she pulled herself off of the lifeless corpse with a grunt, her growling slowly becoming merely grunts and snuffles. Her mind cleared, just enough to feel blades withdrawing from her shoulders, just enough to hear Kika begging for her forgiveness. She stumbled, losing her footing as her rage left her and she began to feel numb.

By the time she hit the ground, ursine had become canine. Still, she struggled. Even if the rage had died, she was afraid. There were no more sounds but the heavy breathing of her companions, of the clanking of Jordan's armor, of the muttered curses beneath Perin's breath. Even Kika was silent, but Brinella could feel her nearby. Feel, but not see.

"Kika," Brinella finally moaned the name, coming to lay curled and shivering over a pile of broken ice.

The rogue lay her hands on her, and she moaned in pain again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It went off right in front of your face. I had to hurt you, please don't hate me! It won't hurt for much longer... it won't hurt..." Kika's voice became dim, as if heard through a thick wall. Not knowing if she would even be heard, Brinella whimpered her words.

"I can't see."

The deathly silence that followed was unheard by her as weakness overwhelmed her at last, and she fell into oblivion.


	42. Chapter FortyOne: Forward

The room was quiet, and though there were no lamps lit, it was not dark in the least. Sunshine did not pierce the curtains that hung closed over the window, but the room was still light enough to walk through, light enough that it was impossible to trip and fall as long as one was to pay attention. The floor was littered with clothing and armor pieces, a two-handed sword leaning against a chair that had been toppled to its side near the corner of the room. The clutter framed the bed where a single figure lay tangled in crimson sheets, her fingers curled into the pillow she clutched to her chest. Her lips parted, a soft groan escaping only to be muffled against the pillow as she buried her face in it and heaved a sleepy sigh.

The peace lasted for a moment, movement surging as the clang of metal rang out in the room. Triadae's hair splayed out, a crimson curtain and then cloak that wrapped around her as her rapid lunge was blocked, and she was thrown back against the wall, Tiroth's arm pressing tight over her breasts, his free hand clasping the dagger she had pointed to his throat. "Good to know you're feeling better, love." He smirked, blood dripping down the blade as he pushed it slowly aside, his lips pressing to the inside of her wrist. Triadae shuddered, fingers opening from the hilt. It dropped away, hitting the wooden floor even as her strength left her.

Tiroth chuckled, his hands sweeping beneath her to gather her up into his arms, striding away from the bed and into the bathroom, where he set her upon the edge of the bathtub, reaching to start the water while he spoke. "You've been locked in here since we brought you back from Hyjal. The time is far past for you to stand up again as a soldier of Silvermoon. I cannot watch you waste away in here," he washed his hand free of the blood and gripped her ankle, his hands moving bit by bit up her legs until he could clasp his fingers around her waist. He was silent for a long time as his fingers moved, tracing the wounds she had received, each of which had been sealed as a thin line along her flesh.

"Where is that woman, Triadae?" His voice could barely be heard, but he saw her flinch as if he had struck her. "You seemed to be recovering those first few weeks. You laughed, you trained as hard as you ever did, and when you slept? Peace was found again. Now, you fear the dark. You jump at the smallest noise, and you sleep for what seems to be days. I cannot watch it any longer, Tria." He cupped her cheek gently, turning her eyes to his own. "You're going to take Kalthor and Leybright, and meet the others in the Highlands."

"No." She pulled her face away only to find his hands clasped on her shoulders. "I can't be around them. I won't be around them! It's because of her that I - ..."

Tiroth shook his head, and her voice died. "You and Kalthor had your falling out. Hana told me about it when you returned. I admit, I found it strange that your anger would remain so strong, but I think you would be surprised if you spoke to Leybright again. Regardless of that, this is an order. Not from a superior officer, because I would never ask something like of you. No, I ask this as a friend." His eyes closed, and he tipped his head forward until his forehead touched her own. "You need to go, for my sake. Perhaps it is selfish, but it is what I need of you."

Triadae watched him for a few moments before sighing and pulling herself from his grasp, dropping into the bathtub. "You've taken care of me for several months now. Not once have you asked me for anything, not once have you shied from me. No matter how mean I have been to you, no matter how many times I've made you bleed..." Her hands reached for his wounded one, her shoulders slumping. "I know what you want from me, and I can't give it to you. Yet, you stay. I'm sorry..."

He laughed and shook his head, his free hand touching on the top of her head gently. "I will always love you, Triadae. But I learned that you are stubborn, willful, and you will do what you feel is right. I have Miralai. I don't need another woman coming along, and maybe I'm content to wait as long as it might take. You have a home with me, Triadae. You always will, and that's all that you need to be certain of, if you won't accept anything else. But I need you back, as a friend and as a soldier. I need you, Triadae, and so do the others."

"If you try to tell me that the world needs me, I'll give you another scar."

"As if you haven't given me enough over this last month or so? No, I won't tell you that the world needs you in particular. But the others do want to know that you are alright. Even Kalthor. Especially Kalthor. You can't stay here forever. You're already far too pale for my tastes. So, take this bath while I pack up your things." He flicked a few droplets of water at her and stood, a single finger tracing lines over his wound. The skin knit with a golden light, and he wagged the hand at her before walking out.

Triadae watched him go with a frown, waiting until he was out of sight to finally sigh and slump into the warm water. No bubbles, this time. It was just one of many things that reminded her of Kalthor, and with Kalthor came the memories of pain. Tiroth had not been wrong in believing that she had been healing. For a while, it did seem as though she would be alright. But when her letters continued to go unanswered, letters that she wrote in hopes of encouragement, her nightmares and dreams began to unsettle her, and she began to see horror lurking in every corner. Granted, she had never written expecting a response, but she had hoped. Hope seemed more and more like a foolish thing to grasp. She lowered herself further into the water, until only her eyes remained above the liquid, and scowled.

The druid had promised to help her. Promised to be there! Yet, no one had heard from her in months, and if they had... no one had told her. Triadae couldn't really remember the last time she had sent a letter, but really, she had given up. But that was her fault, was it not? "It is," she murmured, her eyes watching the bubbles that left her lips. "I did this to myself." Her body slid further, vanishing completely beneath the water. With her eyes open, she saw her hair drift lazily in the eddies made by her moving.

She held her breath, closing her eyes. Calm took hold of her, her heartbeat felt and heard in her every being. One minute passed, and her heartbeat slowed. She tapped her fingers on the sides of the tub, felt the water rush around her skin, and relished the dull thump that reverberated through the liquid. Two minutes passed. The burn started in her chest, and her eyes closed tighter as her back arched. "It's all my fault. I'm not strong enough to do this. I'm not strong enough to keep this going." Three minutes. The burn sharpened, her body beginning to scream for air as her heartbeat quickened in her distress. "Everyone keeps going. Everyone leaves me behind! Why can I not do the same as they can? How much more must I suffer?"

"_Shut up."_

_The slender girl folded her arms over her chest, frowning at the redhead who looked at her with confusion. Sunlight streamed through gold and scarlet glass, painting the marble and carpet with the gem tones. _

"_No one told you to accept Tiroth's proposal, but you did anyway. You said yes to a man promising to take care of you, of us!" The blonde stepped forward, a hand cutting through the air in front of her. "Yet you're in here crying, because you hurt someone's feelings? I could name a hundred women who would kill to be in your place, Tria! How dare you be so selfish as to sit here and mourn your choice with tears and whimpers._

_I can't believe Mother and Father left everything to you. You are supposed to be the one to take care of me? Maybe I should be the one to marry Tiroth. Maybe I should be the one to have everything you have! At least I would not regret a choice I made that was one to make me happy. Don't look at me like that," Miralai stepped closer, her pretty features pulled in a scowl, "just because I'm not as strong as you, doesn't mean I can't protect the people I love. As long as I can do that, it doesn't matter that I'm not the strongest person!_

_Kalthor left to become strong for you. So that you would never have to worry that you'd be unprotected. He followed Kael'thas while you stayed behind and became a Knight. You, the family princess. You, the one who was supposed to forever serve the Light. You fell in love, and forgot Kalthor. Now he has come back in search of you." Miralai's hand lifted, striking the seated woman across the face with a sound that rang in the otherwise empty room. "Do you really think he expected you to wait forever, the privileged heiress of a noble family? Do you think he entertained some silly thought of being your white knight?"_

_Her hand clasped between her breasts, that frown never wavering. "He's not a child anymore, sister. His heart is not made of glass, and no amount of tears and self-pity will make your words sting any less. If I can understand that at my age, why can you not do the same?" Miralai lifted her hand again, but her fingers only brushed against the tear-stained skin of her older sibling. Though her touch was gentle, her words remained firm and cold. "Get up from the floor, Tria. Get up and be the soldier that you are, and not the whimpering woman on the floor. I said get up!"_

The strike that should have come never did, but the memory of it still sent her bolting upright, her lips parting as she gasped air back into her lungs, the fire becoming a searing pain that washed her mind clear. Her fingers grasped the edge of the bath, her shoulders slumping as wet strands of hair hung around her face. Green eyes closed, and she let the laughter that welled up behind the pain come until it shook her body and left her weak and tingling.

"Mira. Oh, you always were the stronger one. Even now," she tensed, pushing herself up to stand, her fingers clasped between her breasts, "even when you've been gone, even after all you've done. All the pain that you caused, you never regret it for a moment." She touched her cheek, gathering the few tears that had left her in her laughter. "It was always those lessons that I learned from. That was why I was suitable. That was why..."

The door to the bathroom opened again, and her thoughts tumbled around her as she spotted the slim figure that stood waiting. For a moment, the peace that had wrapped itself around her threatened to shatter again. Her fists clenched, and she felt Miralai's strike on her cheek as if it was that priceless moment all over again. From the door, Leybright watched her, and as those few moments passed, Triadae lifted her chin and stepped from the tub, her chin held high as she lifted a hand for the towel that the priestess held.

Wordlessly, Leybright handed over the item, and her eyes lowered as her fingers knit together in front of her. Triadae wrapped herself in the soft fabric before moving to step past the woman.

"I'm sorry."

The words were quiet; no one but an elf would have caught them, but it was not the words or who they had come from that made her pause. It was the tone, betraying fear and a sense of urgency behind them. The redhead peered at Leybright for a few moments, but no amount of pity leaked into her voice, and her tone was far from gentle as she finally spoke.

"Because of you, what we were sent to achieve was completed. The camps were disbanded, the betrayers were captured or killed. Because of you, we walked alive from the mess that I nearly put everyone into. Your method was not one that I would have done to my own, but it was necessary." She paused for a moment, and turned herself fully to the other woman.

"Tonight, we are leaving for the Highlands. Make certain that your things are packed, and that you are waiting at the mage's chambers. I trust that you are capable of communicating this to Kalthor for me in my place. There is more that I must do, and I do not have the time, nor the desire, to spend my time bickering. We leave at midnight, and you will be there. Both of you."

Leybright nodded once, and though her mouth opened as if to speak, she closed it once more and stepped from the door of the bath to cross to the one that led out of the bathroom. Her head turned, giving volume to her words though her eyes did not follow through. "I took it upon myself to have your weapon and armor repaired. You will find some enhancements were made, as well. If it does not fit...-"

"It will fit. I do not believe you are capable of anything less than a perfect job in your intent. Now leave." Triadae watched the woman walk away before looking to her bed, where the heavy armor she had not touched in several months now lay clean and repaired, as she had been told. Beside it, her greatsword fairly gleamed, an ethereal golden haze skimming along the blade.

Piece by piece, she donned the black and crimson armor, and as each buckle and fastening was closed, her movements became more sure. The months that had tainted her mind were closed away, locked in a place that she vowed she would not visit again even in her deepest moments of despair. Despite all her reservations, she felt as though that was one promise she would always be able to keep to herself, and by the time she pulled her gauntlets on, there was no more thought of the past.

She rolled her shoulders, a hand reaching out for the hilt of her beloved sword. A smile, rare as it was beautiful, appeared on her lips as she slid her hand from the hilt to the tip. "Hello, old friend. I'm sorry to have neglected you as poorly as I have." With an easy movement, she slid the blade into the scabbard across her back as she continued pulling items into her satchel. "When this is done," she mused while folding a few simple clothes, "I'm going to retire. I'll sell what I don't need, give Tiroth the house for him to give to Mira when she's of age. Me?" Her hand touched the hilt over her shoulder, and she smiled. "You and I will go sailing."

"Everything I don't need will sel for more than enough. I'll buy my own ship, hire my own crew. I'll see all the things that I've always wanted to, without the ties of loyalty and worry." She stuffed the clothes into her satchel, and moved to one of the windows, her plate-covered fingers trailing over it. "I'll sail forever," she whispered. Her eyes settled on the sea of gold and red that made up the forests of Eversong, her smile gentle. "What I want..."

Night had long fallen by the time she left her home, closing the door and letting her fingers drift over the metal handle._ "It will be strange, to leave this all behind. I always thought my life would go so differently. No matter where I was, I was always thinking of others until I could do no more than feel lost when they were gone. Mother and Father, Miralai, Tiroth, Kalthor. Some I will never see again, others I could reach out and touch right now. How strange it feels, to plan a life where they are not my focus."_ Slowly, her hand dropped from the door, though her hesitancy remained.

"_Safety. There is safety in these walls, and I have ever sought it without realizing how much I began to depend on it."_ Her foot moved, taking her one step, and then another, away from the door. "No more." Her voice was soft, but not as sad as the words made them seem. "This may be the last time that I see this place, but even if I do come here again, it will no longer be home. It will not be mine. I will not cower any longer, and I will not fight what is inevitable. The only way to go is forward... how very frightening, that seems to me."

She cast a final sad smile at the door, at the frosted glass that had been mended a hundred times. In her mind's eyes, she saw Tiroth flying through the windows, each shard of glass sparkling in the sun. She saw Kalthor laughing as he repaired the damage that always seemed to come. Images of her and Tiroth embracing on the doorstep, of the first moment he showed her the home they would live in together, of her kneeling in white robes in the garden... countless images ran through her mind, all of them faster than the last. A life lived backwards slowly came to a stop, a wall erecting itself over the cherished memories like the cover of a book closed over the pages.

Triadae turned from the door at last, the enchanted light on the doorstep fading as she herself become part of the shadows, and the trees engulfed her form.


	43. Chapter FortyTwo: Into the Depths

I'm still working on this story. I'm unable to begin my Mists of Pandaria story until this one is finished, so it will be done! I apologize for how long this is taking.

* * *

"_A ship."_

_His arms wrapped tighter around her waist, his laugh felt as much in the chest pressed against her back as it was in the breath that swept past her ear. "A ship, my heart? I ask what I can give you as a husband, and of all the things you pick, you choose a boat?"_

"_I have little need for money, and we already began building a home." Her hand lifted, raising plated fingers to touch on his cheek as she watched the sun set over the sea, sending veins of gold and honey yellow mixed with crimson over a glittering blanket of blue. _

"_What of a family? A child?"_

_Her laugh was sweet, head tipping back to brush her cheek against his own as her eyes closed. "We are young, my knight. We have so many years to consider the possibility of a child. Why can I not dream now, before I am burdened with the dreams that others would have me dream?" The golden sea met her eyes when they opened again, and she sighed a mournful sigh as the blue and black above the sun became more prevalent than the sunset hues._

_His chin moved, topping her head as his grunt of agreement was felt against her, and she was glad she wore her plate, for how he squeezed her. "Always sensible, my love. A child we will have in time, this is true. A boy, I would hope. I've no wish to be beating suitors off my doorstep with how lovely a daughter of your blood would be." He laughed and pressed his face to her neck as she jabbed him with her elbow, breathing deep of her skin and scent. "Where would you go, with this ship? Would I ever see you, once your foot had touched the deck, or would I be a widower, my wife lost to the sea?"_

"_We are not wed yet," she laughed and spun in his arms to wrap her own around his neck. "I would sail, Tiroth. I would leave the land behind me, to see nothing but the sun dance across the waves. To see the lights that rise from the depths in the dark of night, and to hear the song of sirens in the lull and swell of the water. I would breathe freely, as the city has never let me do, and I would dream more dreams than there are stars in the sky."_

_His smile was sad, but still one of mirth. "You'll talk to me of children and a future without a word about our relationship, but if I dare mention that we might be widow or widower... I am a man of the land, 'Dae." He used the name he only spoke when it was them together, one that no one else would ever know or hear, his lips pressed to her forehead. "I would never last long on a boat. I would sink it with the weight of my worries. Alas, I have fallen for a siren, myself."_

"_I am a child of Blood, my heart. It flows in me, and calls to the sea. I am bound forever, I am sorry. It will forever claim my heart... - Tiroth!" She laughed as his hands slid beneath her plate, tickling along her sides as she fought to remain still._

"_Never! I will win the siren back from the waves, and she will know me as her love and master." He turned them both, pressing her back to the tree he had leaned against, and captured her lips in his own to silence her laughter and the sharp intake of breath that left her when his cold gauntlet touched over her breast. Though his hand went no further, he did not relinquish her mouth, nor did she complain until he drew away to give them both their breath._

"_Your hand is cold," she quipped, her cheeks rosy and breath shallow, "you should find a way to warm it."_

"_I have plenty of ways to warm myself," he growled, coursing his fingers over her side until she squirmed and begged him to cease, and he did, with his arm wrapped around the small of her back, pulling her close while his other hand braced against the tree. "Yet, this siren lures with no promise of recompense, and this land-dweller is left to have cold hands."_

"_My maidenhead for a ship," she laughed, cupping his face in her hands as she rose to her toes, "but my love for naught but a kiss."_

"_A heavy price for your love," he whispered and pressed his lips to her own, making no sound of complaint as her hands left his cheeks to tangle in his hair and pull gently. She would be a fierce lover, he knew... the pulls were only the taste, and he loved it even so. "A ship you will have, my siren. A galleon that will be known the world 'round, and you will be it's captain. A captain so lovely and enchanting, that the waters will always be smooth." He touched his thumb to her lips, and watched her lips part and wrap around the end, her eyes closed in a dreamlike state. "A captain..."_

"Captain!"

Triadae roused from her memory, and turned her head to view the one who called her. The male stood in armor that made her heart jump; the steel and silver of the Argent Crusade, their colors worn over the armor. He was the only dressed like that on the floating ship, and the only who could commandeer her attention so quickly. As she always did before speaking to him, her eyes roamed his face and saw the same features of another there; his elder brother, who had been sworn to her service, and died in it.

"I'm sorry, but the others wish to speak in the front hold. I was sent... -"

"I know why you were sent, Razolus." She smiled a rare smile and left the side of the boat, though her fingers trailed the gold-trimmed darkwood for a moment before finally breaking from it. "You are not looking so green, now. Has your stomach finally settled to the movements?" Idle chatter annoyed her, but she managed it regardless.

Razolus shrugged at her question, his green eyes peering briefly at the railing she had left before he settled in step beside her. "It's no ship I've ever been on. Even the goblin zepplins might make me feel a bit more safe than this. Truth be told," his ears twitched as a pale mage in flowing blue robes passed by them, "I'm a fair bit surprised that we've not brought the Legion down upon our heads for how much we must channel for this to stay afloat."

Her lips quirked in a grin, and she nodded agreement. Tiroth had gifted her a ship, but it was not one made for waters. The _Elven Sunset _reminded her strongly of Dalaran, if the city had been made far smaller and been combined just so with Tempest Keep. Wood and gold framed latticework of arcane crystals, the constant pulsing making the fine hair on the back of her neck stand. Each night, the mages that were required to power the airborne behemoth traded places with those that had worked the day, and neither shift looked any better when they came back to work. Refinement would have to happen, but she was thankful for the gift, and for the memory. "The Light will keep us safe, Razolus. That, and Gavron's great big head."

The younger male stifled his laugh behind a cough as the named man stalked past. The cook laughed, and vanished down into the galley as the two continued onward. "The elven moon goddess, as well?" He tipped his head, gesturing to the coin sized pendant that she wore.

Triadae followed his eyes, a shake of her head given as a hand cupped the piece. "No, but I will not lie. It may be that we need her guiding light as much as our moon-touched brethren." The full moon relief on the surface glimmered with an ethereal silver, and she briefly thought of the blonde rogue that had given her the gift. As expected, a sliver of light appeared on the flat silver rim, remaining in place no matter how she turned the pendant. _"So you will always know where there walks a friend," _Ashadel had told her.

"They say you no longer believe in the Light," Razolus ventured, his eyes on her though he did not turn his head.

She frowned, the pendant clinking against her breastplate when she dropped it. "I believe in the Light as much as you do. It is the Light that does not believe in me. I will not beg for forgiveness that I do not feel is required, and you would do better to seal your ears against those who would whisper and set a seed of doubt in your heart." Her tone softened as they approached the door that locked the front hold from the rest of the airship.

"Even his?" Razolus' question was innocent, but she sensed the curiosity within even so.

"Yes. Especially his." She pushed the door open and left the man to stand guard as it closed behind her. Light spilled through the stained glass, spilling over the wood-planked room, coloring the skin of those who waited for her at the large circular table that took up the majority of the room.

Her eyes fell on each of them briefly, though it took her more will to keep a fair glance on Kalthor, more strength to meet his eyes before she looked to Leybright, and the three others who had joined them; Silva, a sneak-thief with quick fingers and a docile temper, raven hair pinned back in a high ponytail; Rorus, a hunter who bore no allegiance further than his people and the wilds, shaggy blonde hair matching that of the wildcat that curled behind him on the wooden couch, and the one that they simply called Epsilon, a mage that seemed keener on using technology, his right arm swathed in a contraption that moved with him as he pointed out various points of interest on the map.

They seemed content to talk among themselves, her only welcome the gentle growl as Tenyl left the couch he had sprawled on to pad to her and accept the rubbing of an ear beneath her plate-covered fingers. She let them talk, finding the lion's company more soothing to her than the idea of joining those that she did not know well, and those that she felt estranged from. For his part, the lion seemed more than happy to remain right by her side, but comfort was something that she knew never lasted long. Nor did she exactly expect it to, any longer.

"If we land here, Silva and I can use our own skills to get in close to them."

"So glad you volunteer me for your insanity, Epsilon."

"Of course. Who else would I rather have with me?"

The group laughed, and with a final pat against the lion's side, Triadae made her approach. "What else would you need with you, Epsilon?" Her eyes scoured the map of the Highlands, noting the pins that marked fleets and squads, bases of both Horde and Alliance.

"Eh, not much. Handful of the best you have that can stick to the shadows, maybe another mage or two. The plan is to get the explosives beneath the Bastion. If we can manage that, then we can bring the building down. We'd cut their numbers by an enormous amount, and flatten their base - ..."

Leybright shook her head. "We have men and women in there. We'd be risking them if we did that, we'd be risking everything if we warned them first." Triadae was not blind to the sidelong glance that the priestess tossed her, but she did not acknowledge it. "What if we focused smaller, just to the camps?"

"It would be the same issue. We have them infiltrated as well. There's no way to stop a loss of life. I don't like being the one to make the cruel point here," the techno-mage pushed grey hair from his eyes and shook his head, "but the ones who made it in? They knew that there was a chance this would be it. That they'd go in, and they wouldn't be coming back."

There was silence, an uncomfortable choking feeling touching on each of them. "Go through with it." Her voice was quiet, but there was no uncertainty to it. She avoided the shocked eyes of Kalthor and Leybright, tapping the map in front of her. "Make as small of a fuss about it as you can; find a cave, go underwater if you must. I don't want anyone to be alerted to this, not even those we sent into the Twilight." The tension was oppressive, and she knew that she had just crossed a threshold that she would not have previously touched.

"There's a cave to the south that we can use, or the mines themselves. Either would work, though the mines would likely give us our best shot." Silva leaned to tap the respective places on the map, the silver tips of her gloves thunking on the wood beneath. "Either way, we're walking right into danger. There is no guarantee that this is going to work, or that we'll even get close to either target. The cave is a known breeding ground for one of the last brood-mothers of the black flight. The mines are Twilight territory."

Their eyes went to her, expectation and repulsion all mixed into one potent package that she wanted to cast away. Anything to stop them from looking at her like that, as if they were considering the best way to restrain her if needed. "I want you two working on the needed arrangements for this. We'll go through the mines, and we'll need a distraction that will make it easier. Rorus, I want you spending the next week finding every nook and cranny that we can use to our advantage. You," she gestured to Kalthor, "will remain with me. Leybright will infiltrate the camps as she can within the minds of the weakest."

"I -" Leybright snapped her mouth shut as Kalthor's hand fell on her shoulder, the smallest shake of his head visible before she stilled and quieted.

"We'll arrive at midnight. Best get rest before the work begins." Triadae stepped away from the table and passed by the lion again, offering only the briefest rest of her hand between the beast's ears before she left through the way she had come. Her steps struggled to remain even, forcing herself to walk as easily as she had when she had entered the room. It was not until she closed the door of her room behind her that she allowed the trembling to start.

She was sending them to die. Foreboding hit like a relentless wave, grabbing at her and pulling her deeper into waters she had sworn to leave untouched. Smothered by her uncertainty and fear, she lay on her bed and let sleep take her.


	44. Chapter FortyThree: Sacrifice

Sleep had not come easily the past week, leaving her tired and irritable at best, and surly at worst. It was worse now than it had been before, as she made her way along the cliffs that bordered the western side of the Highlands. A week of plotting and planning had left her with little more than the knowledge that there was no way to do what needed to be done without the loss of some life, and though the others had been careful about approaching her with new ideas and options only to be refused, Kalthor had been one stubborn thorn in her side that refused to quit borrowing into an already raw psyche. It occurred to her that she could have chosen anyone else to accompany her, and yet he had been her first choice despite their tense arrangement.

So she endured his prodding and the arguments, endured his snide comments and pleas to her better nature, and even endured his scathing ideals that she was simply doing this to get even. He never had an answer when she asked what it was that she was supposed to be getting even for, but she had hardly expected him to. She knew, in the depths of her soul, that he simply could not take the massive loss of life that loomed in their faces, and he could hardly believe that she would be so very callous to it. Truthfully, she wondered if he had forgotten what she was, and how much she had given up in getting as far as they were right then.

"No," she thought as she kicked a stone out of her path, the ringing of plate sounding harshly on both of their ears, "he would never forget what I have lost, no more than I would ever forget what he has lost himself." Her attention turned to their surroundings as mist began to thicken the air, blocking out the sight of mountains and coast. There was something about the stone pillars that unsettled her to a degree that she could not name, and her fingers closed on the hilt of her sword for the comfort that it gave her. A shallow comfort, but one that she could not deny when such was so rare as it had commonly been as of late. Behind her, kicking stones of his own, Kalthor continued to rant at her back.

He missed the sign for him to quiet until it was almost in his face, her gauntlet no more than an inch from his nose. As blessed as the silence was, he knew that she was not one to request him to shut up without good reason. Though his words bit at his tongue and begged to be released, he silenced himself and looked around as she herself did. His fingers twitched, long ears moving as her own did to catch what felt so wrong. Minutes passed, and finally he shook his head, and she looked back at him to nod. "Must have been a rat, or something. You were saying?"

She let him go back into his tirade as they walked, nodding when she could as his tone peaked into questions that she paid no attention to. Despite her claims of having mistaken the sounds for simple rats scuttling about, she was sure that she heard something else. Not scratching, but breathing. So intent on finding the source as they picked their way through the thickening fog, she didn't realize she was being called until Kalthor reached out and grabbed her braid, tugging it roughly.

"Tsk," she glowered at him, rubbing her scalp. "You're lucky I didn't just try to use you as a new sheath." Her eyes narrowed at him a moment, realizing just how old her friend seemed to have become in their last few months. When had white begun to streak through his hair? She frowned, and shook her head again, a slender ear twitching.

"Ever since you were captured, you changed. Ever since you made me do the things I did, there's been a wall erected between us. You hide it behind a loose veneer of indifference, but we're... not the same. I want to be the same." Kalthor let the words hang lamely, his tired gaze set on her. "I want it to be the way it was. I know I was angry, and I've done some foolish things, but we're friends. We've always been there, and now I need you. I need you to listen to me, not just about this deathtrap you'd have us walk into, but more than that."

Triadae was struck dumb with the painful honesty of his words, realizing that he had been saying more and she had callously been ignoring it. What more had he said? She could not ask him to repeat it, and instead stood dumbly, slack-jawed and clearly searching for the proper response, whatever that might have been. No matter how she grasped for them, the right words would not come, and she saw his face fall as she remained silent. Was this really how it had become?

His tone became one filled with hurt and anger, hands moving in gestures to punctuate inflections. "Everything has always been about you, for so long that I've forgotten how to think about me without you being in the picture. Do you have any idea what it's like to do everything for someone, and forget how to live for yourself? Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be there, constantly, without fail, and be turned away over and over? I was there!" His voice raised, and shattered the air around them, echoing through the spires. "I wanted one thing. Just one."

"Kal -" Her words cut short, even the name knotting itself in her throat. The sense of foreboding wouldn't leave her, and though she knew that it was best to listen to him now, her training told her that there were better times. Better places. "We can't do this here. We can't do this now."

"We can. We can and we will. How long did I have to follow you before you would pay attention? I almost had you, had you for myself just one night. Do you know how that felt, to have you so close and have you thinking of another? So close, Tria..." His expression was pained, a hand rubbing at his face. "I just wanted you as mine, but you were always his. I kept hoping, and then you pushed me away. You pushed me away hard, and I didn't understand why. I still don't.

This is wrong, Tria. You have to know how wrong it is. I know that there's always a loss of life involved with plans like these, and I know that you've had to find your own way of coping with that, but have you really become so cold as to simply discard all of those lives? They aren't playthings or toys. They aren't..."

"Kal, I know." She faced him, a small amount of hurt slipping into her words. He had never been the type to live on the front lines. At his heart, he was a scholar and a lover. A lover who had followed her into the darkest recesses of hell, because he knew she'd lose herself if left alone. "Do you think I don't know? I remember the names of those I lost against the Prince. Those I lost against the Lich King. Those I lost from my sister... they don't just fade. They're in my bed, in my kitchen. They're chasing me down, and waiting for the moment my back is turned. More names than I ever care to admit to, all of those men and women who have put their faith and trust in me.

I _know_. They talk to me when my guard is down. Some of them hate me. Some of them are thankful. I see the empty eyes more than I see them laugh. I'm half mad with the grief of losing each of them, and it will only get worse. They're putting their lives out there for us, so we can live. I'd take their place if I could, but one person can't change a world. One person can't stand alone. I can only stand next to them, and silently promise that when it happens, it won't be drawn out. It'll be quick, and they won't suffer." The words flooded from her, trying to show him that she still grasped some of the humanity, still understood.

"You weren't made for this. You never should have come, never should have been here to see how far I've fallen. Even so, you are here, because you're always here. Everything else falls apart, but you're standing right there with that stubborn grin on your lips and your damned imp ready to block what I throw at you. Go home, Kal. Take Leybright, and go home. Far from me, and far from whatever I bring down on my head. I've watched so many die..."

They stood quietly, neither daring to say the words that hung over them like a curse. It was he who ceased the silence, his voice quiet and thoughtful as he spoke. "I knew it the first day I met you by the lake. You were reading something big, some book that you'd probably stolen from the libraries and had no intention of returning. Sunset had turned your hair into a halo of fire around your face. I'd never seen hair like that. Blonde, sure. I'd seen that plenty, and a few with silver. But yours..."

"You fell in the lake. Completely soaked the book, and I was livid."

"You were. You were dressed like a girl, but you talked like a boy. I was smitten from the second you insulted my intelligence. Even when you dragged me to your parents and acted like I was some dog who had followed you home, I couldn't stop grinning. You don't know how happy I was when I saw you again in the Bazaar, with your father. We were kids, Tria. Kids, and I knew what I wanted from you. Knew it for years..."

The silence fell again, and she saw hope turn to pain as she turned away from him and looked up at the smoke-filled sky. She was turning back to him when something hit her, and she heard a shout through the blood that thundered in her ears. The shout came again, but it was dim compared to the shriek that made her blood run cold. Ears still ringing, she turned her head and caught the sight of black wings fading into the mist, the shape barely visible as it turned around for another strike.

Kalthor was yelling at her, she knew. She felt hands grasp around her arm and pull, bringing a yelp of pain from her as she tried to go with the movement, tried to stand with his help. Breathing as hard, so very hard. A furtive glance told her that her armor was crushed, her satchel torn away from her and the contents spread everywhere. Her sword...

It dropped far from her, and they both ducked behind a pillar as the dragon sliced through the air towards them. It banked away, leaving her sword as if taunting her. She could get it. She could run for it, and she might make it before the beast got to her first. Or she might not, and it would all be for nothing. Kalthor seemed to read her mind, his hand gripping her shoulder. "It's not worth it. It's just a sword, let it go."

But they both knew that she wouldn't let it go, and so he didn't try to hold her when she made a dash for the discarded blade, already bent half over when she neared it. Her ears rang with the shrill scream of the dragon as it sped towards her only to veer away at the last moment. She saw it, a cry of triumph rising in her throat to be choked away as she saw the second dragon burst through the mist towards her.

She was used to the cold dread when a life was in the balance. She was used to the world slowing, used to the heartbeat thundering out a warning, used to counting every breath as it became the only sound. She saw every tooth, every fang, every claw on the great drake as it reached for her, a massive swipe that would finish the job of her armor and cleave through the plate and into her very body. She saw it all, and for a moment, embraced it utterly.

Her breath left her in a cry, expelled as she was knocked aside and hit the floor hard. For a moment, she considered the possibility that the drakes had gotten their lines crossed, that one had knocked her free of the other, but time had not yet returned to its normal flow, and her eyes focused instead on the dragon that swung upwards and away from the spires of rock, screeching victory. The earth shook, the first landing not far off, half hidden in the mist, but her eyes were riveted to where she had been standing not moments before.

His eyes watched her, dull and yet glittering with pain and unshed tears. There was no disbelief, no surprise, simply a look that screamed of so much more than words could ever allow. She heard herself call him as he began to fall, as his body swayed and his eyes left her to drop to the gash across his stomach that spilled blood down his front. His lips stained quickly, and she heard herself scream his name, heard the rocks on her armor grate as she lunged to her feet in a vain attempt to catch him before he hit ground. His body hit hers hard, his only attention on his hands, trying to keep his body in one piece.

She tried to help him, holding one hand over his stomach and the other around his head, pulling his forehead to her lips. She tasted blood, sweat, tears, and knew that at least one was more hers than his. The dragon shrieked, and her eyes opened to see the beast advancing slowly, not only because of the way that time had caught them in that moment, but because it was enjoying this. It was relishing it. It knew that there was nothing she could do to help her friend, or escape it. A shadow fell over her, and she knew the second was lurking as well. Knew it, accepted it, and refused to cater to it.

Items had scattered after the first attack, potions and elixirs lay broken on the stone, but her hand went instead to her neck, pulling out the silver chain that had been gifted to her by her friend. The pendant was warm in her hand, and it shattered under her grasp as easily as if she had just crushed glass, and she felt the tug of arcane. The Highlands vanished from around her, leaving the screams of angered dragonkin in her ears and replacing it with utter silence and near darkness.

"Let him go, child." Triadae looked up at a touch on her shoulder, saw the silver-blue gaze of the same draenei that had rescued her from the Twilight camp, and listened. Eaxoa moved swiftly, gathering up the warlock and taking him to a platform of stone that sat in the middle of the small, dimly lit room. She did not move until the woman returned to her, helped her up and guided her outside the room before vanishing back inside.

Tria felt as if she were alone for ages, staring at the walls and floor, staring at anything except herself. Anything but her hands, stained with the blood of her friend. When Brinella walked into the room and saw her, there was a moment of timelessness, where the elf was confused as to why the worgen walked in her human shape, and the worgen was confused as to why the elf was even present, and Tria's hands lifted. Brinella spotted the blood, and Tria's lips formed words that did not come when the worgen rushed into the room where Kalthor lay.

She was aware of voices, of Eaxoa's never-failing calm and of Brinella's sharper one, but she would remember nothing so much as the moment the druid staggered out of the room as pale as death, blood staining her gown and her hands. She would remember the way that the girl tried to form the words, would remember the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes no matter how hard she tried to remain brave in front of the warrior. She would remember the way that the druid rushed to her as her legs lost the ability to stand, and the warmth from the woman's breast as it muffled her screams of anguish and denial.

Brinella could do nothing more than hold her, understanding the pain the woman felt keenly. She could not bear to tell the warrior that her friend had given up even as they had worked in tandem to try to knit his body together. She could not explain that she would have driven herself into death if it had meant being able to hear his laughter just one more time, nor that she had been pulled away from the body by Eaxoa when the threads had failed to knit, and when his spirit no longer answered. She could do nothing more than hold her.

So she did.


	45. Chapter 45: Drinks and Promises

AN: If you're interested in the content of Kalthor's letter, it was posted on my tumblr ("ashadelmg. tumblr .com" without spaces or quotes). Follow me if it pleases you, you'll get quick peeks into my writing and inspirations. It's NSFW at some points, though. Just a warning. The blog, not the letter.

* * *

It was done.

The ceremony had gone without a hitch, but Triadae hadn't expected there to be a fuss. Kalthor's friends had been the same as hers, and she could pick the ones that had come to pay their last respects out with ease. More had come, faces she could not recognize except that she remembered seeing them briefly among the members of the Caravan, among those who had helped rescue her. There were so many, and all had listened to the stories that had been told, while most had shared their own experiences with the man. She had been one of those who did not, and while there was not a single person who faulted her for it, she hated herself. The words would not come; words that should have been easy were stuck in her throat, and each time she tried to voice them, they only made her choke more.

They had all been so careful, there in the garden of the home she had once owned. It was not a place she had thought she would be returning so soon, but there was hardly another place she could think of to bury him. Even so, he hadn't been buried. That was one request she remembered from years before, when the undead had risen and pulled down the very walls of their lives. He had asked her once, just once, to do anything to him but bury him if he died before her. So she had burned his body, alone. The pyre built with her own hands, his body laid on it with her own strength, and the torch taken to it with her own grief. When it all had been done, she had stood alone and wept the tears she had tried so hard to hold back.

Brinella had found her then, and silently helped her gather the ashes into an urn. There were no words, that quiet day. She had simply appeared in that oddly human form, but she had not left until she was certain that Tria had been given all the help she could handle. The two were bonded in silence, both of them now having supported the other in their grief and loss, with the warrior understanding that there was no difference between them. The druid had lost her love as permanently as she had lost her own. Lost her love, lost her friend, lost her support.

It was Brinella who had come silently with the others, making the small gathering into something else. The entertainers had brought music and food, and a small mount of joy for those who had not known of them. There was no surprise that those who bore the blue banners of the Alliance had appeared quietly in the woods of Eversong, no complaints made when food and drink was shared. It tore her apart, knowing that Kalthor would have approved. Knowing that he would have danced with the cook, and laughed with the two who had nearly killed themselves trying to keep him alive. Alive for her.

Apologies were hollow, condolences even more so. Death was normal for them, and they all accepted her silence as a form of the grief that they could not completely share. It hurt some to have her pull away, she knew. Tiroth had spent most of the proceedings looking as though he was caught between grabbing her to him and holding her there until she poured out her heart, and being a silent statue that simply watched her with narrowed eyes. His distance made the ache worse, as if losing her friend had forced her eyes to all that she had lost. It was a path that she had sworn not to play with, but it was so hard not to toy with the ideas and thoughts.

The light drizzle that had begun had turned her eyes to the grave of her friend, the place where they had decided to bury the ashes that were left of him. She had expected to simply dig a hole and then drop the urn in, but Brinella had changed that in her own way. She had taken the urn from the warrior, and gently dumped the ashes into the hole just large enough for the metal. Triadae had watched in silence as the druid knelt and placed a single small item amidst the ash, and then swept the dirt back into the hole. She had expected her to stand, but instead the druid had hovered her hands over the mound and her eyes closed. A strain was present, a moment of anxiety that passed as a tiny shoot twirled upwards from the ground.

That sprig of green among the dark soil riveted her attention and brought gasps from the crowd. Though every moment seemed to bring Brinella pain, each moment showed growth that might have taken years. The sprout became a sapling, and then exploded into a size that towered even over the home that the grave had been placed beside. The bark was smooth, the grain of the wood clear, and Triadae swore that she could see her dearest friend in that very grain; reading a book at the foot of it, grinning at them from the center, and in the branches, he crouched with a hand held downwards towards them. Yet when she blinked, the images faded away.

"Heartswood." Brinella's voice was strained and weary, but her smile was serene. "It's a difficult tree to find, but I did. Rumor, or perhaps legend, says that during a horrible war, two lovers fell together. Where they died, the heartswood tree grew. I found it, and two seeds... Kal deserved the best, and I could only give what he inspired me to chase." Her eyes went to the spread of leaves, and closed. "Can almost hear him laughing, if you close your eyes. This will be a good place, for him and for her." She looked to a bench set aside from the others, where the solitary figure of Leybright sat and stared off towards the ocean.

"It's not my place to tell you what to do, and I can't say that I know how she feels about any of this. She's a conflicted soul, half here and half... elsewhere." The druid gestured towards a passerby, and they handed over the two drinks that they carried, which she offered over to the warrior. "I can't even say that I think Kal was wise in asking you to do something that I know tears at your heart. I can probably guess that he only had the best for everyone in his mind, and he..." She drifted off, struggled to find the right words as her eyes sought out another lone figure, standing apart from the others and looking awkward even then. Her smile softened.

"Even if you choke on your words, even if it feels like they are bile coming out from deep in your stomach, you must say them, Tria. For him, but also for you. Don't let things brew. Take it from this old wolf," she smiled and shook her head, "you don't want to lose something, because you're too busy hating what was left behind. It's cliché, I know... but I never would have found William if I had kept Cor trapped in my heart. You helped me then, and I'm going to need you to help me again, soon." Her eyes turned to the tree, a frown sweeping away the smile. "I'm going to need you, but I need you as stable as you can possibly be. Do this, Tria. Complete the circle." With that, the druid slipped away, going to the lone man and twining her fingers in his own.

Triadae's heart twisted to see the love and adoration the two shared, and her eyes went to the cups in her hand before they trailed out to the priestess who sat alone. She took a breath, not liking the way her stomach churned, but she knew that every word the druid had said carried a ring of truth to it. More, the druid had hinted that she would need help; that burned brighter than anything else in her mind.

Leybright said nothing when she approached, merely took the offered drink and cradled it in her lap. There was the silence, awkward and full, with neither of them knowing how to break it until Triadae did, with her voice harsher than she had meant. "You'll be off active duty. Now. Today. The house is yours, but I..." Words failed. They always failed right at that crucial moment, when she needed them most. "I can't do everything he asked. I can give you the means to stay safe. Tiroth said you'd always rent a room at the inn when you came into town, so we... he and I thought it was better that you have a home. Kal fixed the windows. More often than he should have, but he fixed them. I cleared out one of the bedrooms, and there's... it just needs a little paint."

"I never loved him." The words spilled quietly and quickly, Leybright's gaze finally pulled up to the other woman. There was nothing in her face, but her eyes radiated a sadness that Tria could understand all too well. "The colder side of me, that which you called Leybright... she tried. She wanted to love him, because he was kind to her. He was patient, and good. He deserved to have a love that was undying and passionate, but she could only offer her body – no, don't look at me like that. I could not love him, because I could never bring myself to love someone who would not love me.

He would never love me, not like he loved you. Even when I told him of the child, he was not truly happy. He wanted those words from you, but he accepted them from me. Protected me, yes. He protected me from anything that might have taken this child from me, and I could have begun to love him for it if he'd only show me what he constantly showed you. Leybright may not have been able to understand, but I do." Her eyes went back to the sea. "You can give me the protection and safety that he asked you to, but you cannot raise the child. I know, because I see you with Miralai, and know it is the same, if only the cast of characters is different. I will not ask it of you, Gildedsun."

There was silence again, and she broke it once more. "I killed my husband, many years ago. I dabbled in the arcane, then. Anyone who knew me knew that I wasn't a violent person, but I came home one day to my husband in our bed with another woman. I was seven months pregnant, and I just..." she moved her fingers in a gesture much like a flower blooming, "snapped. I froze them to the bed, I warded the house with a silence charm, and then I burned them alive. The amount of magic I used terminated the pregnancy. I lost... everything. My love, my family, my mind.

"They severed that bond, actually drained me of all of that knowledge. I was helpless and feeble, and I was left to dream about what I had done. Over and over, I could hear them scream even through the barrier I had made. I could hear him begging me to stop... but he had never begged when he burned. He just told her that they would be alright. That he loved her. Through to the end, that's what he said.

"It was after one of your torture sessions that I told him. I told him it all, just so he would know. I told him that I didn't mind the rumors, because they were so much less painful to accept than the truth. Let everyone believe I left my legs open for anyone, let them believe I had no heart. He had wept for you, and by the time I stopped, he was weeping for me, and still... I felt nothing." Her hand moved to rest on her stomach, pressing gently on the curve. "When I told him that his child grew within me, there was no question, no doubt. He told me that he would protect me, and he would be a proper father. But what is a family when you feel nothing for the other? That man..." She laughed, and tears streaked down her cheeks. "We both hurt him so bad, didn't we? Us foolish, foolish women."

A range of emotions went through her, and Tria was shocked to find that anger or hate was not among them. She sat beside the woman, finally finding the words that had been knotted inside of her. "We did. I loved him, more than I ever let on. Looking back on it, there's so much I should have done. So many things that I should have done with him. Done for him. But I can't take care of his kid. That's just like Miralai, just another kick to someone who is already down. I'll do what I can, though. You need anything, just ask. I can't promise a night away from the kid, and I can't promise I'll be here, but I'll do what I can for you in his place.

"I know he loved me. I saw it, just like I'm so used to seeing that last light in the eyes of those who answer to me during combat. That last flicker of honesty before the fall. Those last words that can't be said, only seen. I wish that fear had not made it so hard for me to say what I know he wanted me to say. What was I to do? Tell him that I had no interest one day, and then take it all back in the next few weeks? Pride kept me from doing so. Pride," she shook her head, "pride always seems to trip me up."

Leybright reached out a hand, touching her fingertips to the back of Tria's own. "He knew. We both know he did. There's so much that we can say or do, so much that we can blame ourselves for, but that's not what he wanted. He never wanted much, but I think that, at the very end, he had exactly what he wanted. The knowledge that what he did was good and right, and he would do everything in his power to do it again, and again. He was a stubborn man. That's all we need to remember."

Tria nodded, and looked down at her cup before taking a long sip. "Don't name it after him."

"And put up with what would be an utterly egotistical child? No, I don't think I will." Leybright smirked, and they fell into silence while the sun set, and the tree that had been formed over his grave gathered the lights of dozens of fireflies. The party continued into the long hours of the night, and the two talked open and freely, with Tria recounting stories that made the other woman laugh. She was at peace, and yet...

_She'll change the world as we have, for better or for worse._


End file.
